I wanted to write something visual that I could read to the children. This was when I created the idea of Redwall Abbey in my imagination. As I wrote, the idea grew, and the manuscript along with it.

Pick-a-lock, Pick-a-lock, you'll regret the day, When you took a mouse thief and locked him away, Silly cat, look at that, it's two for one, A thief and a warrior, by dawn will be gone.

I wrote about a bird that cleaned a crocodile's teeth. The story was so good that my teacher could not believe that a ten-year-old could write that well. I was even punished because my teacher thought I'd lied about writing it! I had always loved to write, but it was then that I realized that I had a talent for it.

Absoballylutely top hole, wot. A and B the C of D I'd say. . . Above and Beyond the Call of Duty.

Where's the point in fighting and slaying if you can make a friend out of anybeast instead of a foe?

Aha! Today I shall become an author! And I will auth and auth and auth and make a squillion dollars, whoopee!

The Land of Dreams, that mystical realm, where the oddest of visions appear, come wander through scenes of joyful peace, or stampeded through nightmares of fear. Dare we open those secret doors, down dusty paths of mind, in long-forgotten corners, what memories we'll find. Who rules o'er the Kingdom of Night, where all is not what it seems? 'Tis I, the Weaver of Tales, for I am the Dreamer of Dreams!