There’s a lot of information about my childhood (and about my life generally) in:

• Autobiography
• Interviews and Profiles

Yes, I did write a lot. I wrote a novel when I was in fourth grade (or most of one, anyway), and I’ve found lots of poetry from middle school and high school. I liked writing Haiku, and I loved writing limericks and other funny poems.

No. I always knew I loved reading, but it never occurred to me I might become an author. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I was such a terrible student, and I thought that to be an author, you should at least know how to spell. (Not true.)

I read all the time when I was a kid. I read when I should have been doing my homework. I read when I should have been listening in class. After all, time is precious—no reason to waste it. (But my teachers, somehow, did not see it that way.

I read a lot of books kids still read today. Some favorites were the Green Gables books, the Little House books, the Narnia Chronicles, the Wrinkle in Time books. Other favorites, though, were by British authors. You’ll find some of these in American libraries and bookstores, but others are either out of print or only published in Britain. Some of them were funny (hilarious!) fantasy-adventures, such as The Land of Green Ginger (Noel Langley), Once on a Time (A. A. Milne), Carbonel (Barbara Sleigh), and The Magic Pudding (Norman Lindsay). Others, more serious, were The Twilight of Magic (Hugh Lofting), The Dolls’ House (Rumer Godden), The Princess and the Goblin (George MacDonald), and Mistress Masham’s Repose (T. H. White). I see that I could go on and on, so I’ll have to make myself stop, but I can’t neglect to mention two more favorites (American and funny) that I read again and again: Black and Blue Magic (Zilpha Keatley Snyder) and The Pushcart War (Jean Merrill).

Really, I’m going to stop, but I guess I have to mention the myths and fairytales I so loved—I devoured the Norse myths, for example, and all the colors of the Andrew Lang fairytale collections. I was especially fond of Hans Christian Andersen (in particular, The Snow Queen and The Little Mermaid). And the fantasies of E. Nesbit and Edward Eager . . . Okay, I’m done now.

(And the Moomintroll books . . .)

(And Heidi . . .)

I like exactly the same kinds of books, but of course, lots of new books have been published since I was a kid. I have discovered the wonderful Diana Wynne Jones; I especially like her Fire and Hemlock, Dogsbody, and Howl’s Moving Castle. Another few examples are Which Witch (Eva Ibbotson); Playing Beatie Bow (Ruth Park); The Perilous Gard (Elizabeth Marie Pope); and Beauty. (Robin McKinley).

I can’t answer that. There are so many books I love—and so many different kinds of books. It’s like asking me to choose between pizza and ice cream. How could I possibly choose between them? They’re so delicious, each in its own way: hot and cold, salty and sweet. I’ll take them both, thanks!

I have written two books. Well Wished was published in 1997; The Folk Keeper was published in 1999. I don’t yet know when my next book is coming out.

I can’t answer that question, either. That’s like asking which of my two kids I like the best. Each is different, each is delightful and maddening in his own way! I love each for who he is, and I love them equally. It is the same for my books.

I am a very slow writer. Well Wished took me more than seven years. The Folk Keeper was faster—about four years. But don’t let that scare you (this for those of you who want to write). Remember: there are many writers who write excellent novels much more quickly than I do. They may write a novel a year, or even several novels. Each writer has a unique process; there is no right or wrong way. If you want to be a writer, you’ll find your own pace.

I started writing in 1983. My first novel, Well Wished,was published in 1997. But I spent a lot of that time, especially the early years, learning to write; I didn’t send out many manuscripts to publishers—just a handful of submissions during the 1980s. (And how lucky for the reading public that those manuscripts were never published!) I only started submitting seriously in the early 1990s with a draft of Well Wished.

I’m not sure. Fantasy suits my voice and temperament. Fantasy also suits the themes I tend to address. But I enjoy and admire many other kinds of books—funny early-chapter books, for example. I might try to write a book like that some day.

I like what one reviewer said of my writing: “Billingsley has done an admirable job of fully evoking a fantasy place and time that feels almost as real as here and almost as current as not so long ago.” (Janice Del Negro reviewing Well Wished in The Bulletin for the Center of Children’s Books.) She summed up beautifully what I try to do. I think of my books as being set in a world very much like our own, but overlaid with magical elements. For a detailed discussion of the geographical and historical models for The Folk Keeper, please see my Research Notes.

I’m writing another fantasy inspired by a Celtic folktale, much as the Celtic selkie stories inspired The Folk Keeper. It feels too fragile to talk about until I have a final draft in hand, but for a clue as to the type of story I am working with, please visit the folklore page of fantasy author Holly Black. (Holly wrote a wonderful young-adult fantasy, Tithe: A Modern Faerie Tale, and the enormously-popular Spiderwick Chronicles.)

Please see my interview with Cynthia Leitich Smith.

Please see my Author’s Note to The Folk Keeper.

Please see my Author’s Note to The Folk Keeper.

Please see my Autobiography.

It is true that I only hint at what the Folk look like (all “wet mouth and teeth”). This, I decided, was more effective than describing them in detail. If I only hint at the Folk, the reader’s imagination will fill in those details. The reader will make the Folk into his or her own worst nightmare. The unknown is worse than the known, isn’t it? The shadow that moves in the corner is more terrifying than the reality behind it. That is why I left it up to the reader to decide what the Folk look like.

Please see my Research Notes to The Folk Keeper.

Finding the right name is tricky. I write the kind of fantasy that has a long-ago and faraway feel to it, as do many fairytales. That means that the names I choose should match: they should also have a long-ago, faraway feel. Not “Nancy,” but “Nuria.” Not “Casey,” but “Corinna.” The name also has to suit the character. I changed the names of the characters in each of my novels—changed them not once but several times. Nuria started out as “Sarah,” which does not match up with the long-ago and faraway feeling of my books. “Nuria” works better. There’s a misty, dreamy feeling to it that suits both my setting and Nuria’s personality. Corinna started out as ”Fiona,” which was too soft for the character she became. As I work on a book and get to know my character better, it becomes more and more clear what name will suit her best.

As for how I find the names themselves . . . I look through books of baby names. I keep an ear out for interesting names. Sometimes, the right name is in my mind already and needs only to come bubbling to the surface. It just takes time.

Are you ready for a long story?

I began Well Wished just after I returned to the United States after having lived for a few years in Spain (see my Autobiography). Because my experience in Spain was still fresh, I decided that Nuria’s grandfather would have come from Spain, from a particular region of Spain called Catalonia. (That’s where I lived during my years in Spain). The people who live in Catalonia speak Spanish, but they also speak a special language of that region called Catalan. In Catalan, the word for Grandfather is “Avi.” Furthermore, a grandfather is not just called “Grandfather,” but “the Grandfather,” as though it were a title. And so it was natural that Nuria should call her grandfather “the Avi.” Eventually, I stripped away the Spanish background I had given the Avi; it would suit my book better, I felt, to avoid grounding it in a real time and place. But I kept the name; it still suited the book. As my editor pointed out, the name “the Avi” works well in a fantasy. It’s a little mysterious; it doesn’t make us think of grandfathers of the 21st century. It contributes to the flavor of “long-ago and faraway.” But just before the book was published, my editor and I got worried that the name “Avi” might confuse readers. It might make them think of the children’s author Avi (winner of the 2003 Newbery Medal). And because I didn’t want my readers to be jolted from the long-ago and faraway by a reference to the here and now, I changed the spelling to “Avy.”

Titles are hard. It takes a special kind of intelligence, which I don’t possess. A friend suggested the title Well Wished; I could never have come up with it on my own. It’s good, isn’t it? It’s tricky, just as the Well is tricky. It suggests you want to make wishes on the Well, but it also suggests that you want your wishes to turn out well. I like that.

Successful titles are usually (with some notable exceptions) short and easy to remember. They often hint at what the book is about, they often make the reader ask a question. Lois Lowry suggests that Jaws is one of the greatest titles ever, and I think I agree. It hints at what happens in the story. It’s short and memorable. It makes you want to open the book to find out whose jaws are doing what to whom . . .

If you are a kid, the most important thing is to read and read and read, and then read some more. It’s great, of course, if you’re also writing. But it is the reading, filling yourself up with wonderful words, that will allow you eventually to set wonderful words on paper. Your brain is a sponge when you’re a kid; let it absorb as much of the best writing as possible.

Second, you need persistence. It takes a lot of determination to see a manuscript through from beginning to end—it often takes years. (I began writing in 1983; my first novel was published in 1997. I’m glad I didn’t give up in 1995!) It also takes determination to keep writing after a publisher rejects your manuscript; or after someone criticizes your manuscript; or after you decide it’s so terrible you have to lock it in a kryptonite box and throw it in the deepest sea. But don’t give up! When you write, you exercise a muscle. It’s not a muscle you can see, but it’s there. The more you write, the better you get. So keep writing, keep exercising that muscle. Have faith that you will improve. Have faith that there exists an editor who will love your stories and your style, who will help you make your manuscript into the best book possible. Get as much constructive feedback as you can (and be willing to listen): take classes; form a writer’s group. Never give up.

I call myself a “plunger.” That is, I do not outline. I begin with the barest idea for a book (for example, half-selkie girl discovers her true identity) and I begin to write. I don’t know the character’s name; I don’t know the setting. I don’t know how the plot unfolds. I discover these things as I write. I am unable to write an outline. I don’t think that way. As I plunge into the story, ideas spill out the end of my pen. I can’t think about it abstractly; I can’t muscle my way through on brainpower alone.

Everyone is different, of course. A few years ago I heard Cynthia Voigt (author of the Newbery-Award winning Dicey’s Song) speak about her process. She outlines extensively and does little, if any, rewriting. That astonishes me, but she is perhaps astonished at the messy, disorganized way of the plunger. For you writers and would-be writers, please realize that there is no “right” way: you have to find the way that suits you best.

I do take notes, however. Say I am working on the beginning of my story and get an idea for something that happens in the middle. I write the idea on an index card. After I finish a chapter, I look through my index cards to see which of these ideas I need for the next chapter. I tape them on the wall so I can see them as I write. (One of these days, I’ll update my technology and get myself a bulletin board.)

I write many, many drafts—too many to count. Impossible to count, really, because I don’t necessarily start at the beginning and write through to the end. I may begin a book, but then realize that the beginning is so off-track I can’t continue, and so I begin again. Is that a draft? An eighth of a draft?

I like best to write early in the morning, as soon as I’ve awoken, before my mind has absorbed other words—words like “Cheerios,” and “Oh-mom-you-know-I-hate-peanut-butter-in-my-lunch”; words that don’t fit my fictional worlds. I try to write four hours a day, five days a week. I write longhand, but as I write, I type up my chapters, print out hard copies, and scribble on those—and those scribbles become my next draft.

I am married to Richard Pettengill, professor of English and Theater at Lake Forest College, a small liberal arts college in the Chicago area. I have two kids, Miranda (born 1990) and Nathaniel (born 1994).