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The Joy of Paula When Paula Danziger blazed into the world of children’s books thirty years ago with The Cat Ate My Gymsuit, it was immediately clear that a major talent had arrived. Soon it became equally clear that a major personality had entered the field — a flamboyant, funny, larger-than-life character who could convulse audiences with her self-deprecating humor even as she was talking to them on a deep level about books, about children, about life, about survival. Survival was something Paula could discuss from experience, having survived an unhappy childhood; a pair of car accidents that convinced her if she was ever going to write she had better start; and, just a few years ago, a brutal attack in a Reno hotel room. She not only fought off the assault, she battled the trauma that followed, forcing herself back to the keyboard and then back on the road to continue the speaking that was so much a part of her life. Bad puns, sparkling sneakers, and an excess of sequins were all part of the Paula package. But so was indomitable courage. For the last twelve years Paula and I read to each other almost every day. It started as a challenge: both stuck on projects, we made a deal that the next afternoon we would call each other, and whoever did not have three pages to read would suffer unendurable shame. Voilà! Suddenly we were each writing again, a two-person writer’s group that, as with most writer’s groups, was often a lot more about our personal lives than about the stories we were working on. Last year, when we were both feeling stuck again, I proposed a new challenge: whoever didn’t get their pages done had to send ten dollars to the George Bush re-election campaign. The prospect was so terrifying that we were spurred back into productivity. It was a story that Paula loved to tell. I have never known anyone like her. I never expect to again. —Bruce Coville
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