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Emily Jenkins

Emily Jenkins Photo by Heather Weston


I grew up in the Boston area in the 1970s. My mother was a preschool teacher and my father a playwright. I remember visiting my mother’s classroom and reading to the children there; even more vividly, I remember sitting in the back row of theater after theater, watching rehearsals—seeing stories come to life. My mother read me countless picture books, but at my father’s house there wasn’t much of that nature. He read me what was at hand: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Sherlock Holmes stories. He also made up stories for me and recounted the plots of Shakespeare’s plays.
 
I was a raw child. In fact, I am a raw adult. This is a hard quality to live with sometimes, but it is a useful quality if you want to be a writer. It is easy to hurt my feelings, and I am unable to watch the news or read about painful subjects without weeping. I was often called oversensitive when I was young, but I’ve learned to appreciate this quality in myself, and to use it in my writing.
 
Growing up, I spent large parts of my life in imaginary worlds: Neverland, Oz, and Narnia, in particular. I read in the bath, at meals, in the car, you name it. Around the age of eight, I began working on my own writing. My early enterprises began with a seminal picture book featuring a heroic orange sleeping bag, followed by novel-length imitations of The Wolves of Willoughby Chase by Joan

BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

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Available 08/11/2015Pre-Order

Dumpling is a dog of enormous enthusiasm, excellent obedience skills – and no sense of smell. She doesn’t care about flowers, garbage, or any of the other smelly things most...

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Five Creatures

Emily Jenkins; Pictures by Tomek Bogacki

Three humans and two catsFive creatures live in our house. Three humans, and two cats. Three short, and two tall. Four grownups, and one child (that's...

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That New Animal

Emily Jenkins; Pictures by Pierre Pratt

A new baby changes everything . . . for two dogsFudgeFudge does not like that new animal. Marshmallow does not like it either. Not even a little bit. So begins this forthright, hilarious,...

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