I made a book recently. A children’s book about an alligator girl named Allie.
I only did the editing and DTP work, though. A very dear friend and neighbour of mine wrote the text and his wife drew the illustrations. It was meant as a birthday present for their 8-year-old son. The whole project grew out of little stories the whole family invented while they were on holidays in Florida last year.
It came out beautiful. Not perfect, he’s no writer, she’s no illustrator and I’m no professional editor, but beautiful. Full of enthusiasm and imagination and fantastic memories that hold this family together. Only five copies were produced, thread-stitched hardcovers that cost a fortune and are worth every single cent.
And the best?
The best is that now the little boy for whom we made it has started to write his own stories, in a simple little notebook he takes everywhere with Winnie the Pooh on the cover. He writes the sequel, stories about Allies return visit at his home. He’d like to go skiing with her.
And as we have a huge pond in our garden and they have only lawn and play equipment, she’d have to live with us during her stay. He even came and asked if we’d allow it, because he can only write about stuff that can really happen.
Of course we do. Who could resist an alligator girl that’s friend with such an amazing 8-year-old?