Roni Schotter

Roni Schotter Wendy Goldberg

I was born in New York City and lived in an apartment building called “The House of Joyful Living.”  On the roof there was an outdoor shower, a goldfish pond, some potted trees, a handball court, and a hawk’s eye view of the buildings around us – including the Empire State Building.  With a mama and a papa all to myself, it seemed that we lived in paradise.  Then my two sisters were born and we moved to an apartment in Brooklyn – no goldfish pond, but from the six-story roof I could see the Statue of Liberty lifting its torch to me and the tall, gray smokestack of the nearby Pilgrim Laundry.  When I was nine, my parents brought out a wooden puzzle map of the United States and tried to show my sisters and I where we were moving.  They couldn’t because the tiniest piece was missing – Rhode Island.

I grew up in Rhode Island, enjoying my new backyard where we grew one of everything – a pea plant, a tomato plant, a gladiolus, etc.  I loved being only minutes away from the ocean.  Eating “Johnny cakes” and clams.

I was always terribly shy and spent a great deal of time observing people and the beauty around me, storing it up, for I never guessed that I’d end up being a writer.

Now that I’m an adult and a writer, I still feel like a child.  In fact, I often feel like someone impersonating a grownup, so it’s far easier for me to write for children


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