I don't necessarily start with the beginning of the book. I just

“I don’t necessarily start with the beginning of the book. I just start with the part of the story that’s most vivid in my imagination and work forward and backward from there.” Thus spoke Beverly Cleary, the beloved storyteller whose words have guided countless children into the living realms of wonder and truth. In this simple statement lies not only the secret of her craft, but also a timeless principle of creation and of life itself: that one need not begin at the beginning to create something whole; one must begin where the heart burns brightest. For it is not order that gives birth to inspiration, but imagination — that divine spark which ignites wherever passion chooses to strike.

Beverly Cleary, known for her tender yet profound portrayals of childhood — Ramona Quimby, Henry Huggins, and the rest of her luminous cast — understood that storytelling does not arise from structure, but from vision. The writer, like the sculptor, must first feel the living pulse within the marble before striking the first blow. The most vivid part of a tale, as she describes, is that which calls most insistently to the imagination — a moment alive with emotion, truth, and color. From that central spark, the rest of the story unfolds as naturally as branches grow from the trunk of a tree. Thus, she teaches that creation is not linear, but organic — not mechanical, but alive.

To begin where the imagination shines most brightly is an act of courage, for it defies convention. Many would insist that all things must begin neatly, that order must precede creation. But Cleary, with the wisdom of an artist and the patience of a gardener, knew that beginnings often reveal themselves only after the heart of the work has been found. Just as a river may spring from unseen mountains, so too may a story — or a life — begin from the depths of inspiration, flowing outward and backward until its source is known. To the ancient mind, this was the way of the muse, who rarely spoke in order, but whose whispers led the artist where truth was most alive.

Consider the example of Homer, the great bard of Greece. When he sang of The Iliad, he did not begin with the birth of heroes or the start of the war. He began in medias res — in the middle of things — at the height of passion and conflict. For it is there that the soul awakens; it is there that imagination catches fire. Only later did the tale move backward and forward, weaving together the fabric of fate and memory. Cleary, though writing for children, followed the same immortal rhythm: beginning not with order, but with emotion; not with history, but with humanity. For both Homer and Cleary knew that the truest stories do not begin with time — they begin with feeling.

In her method lies a greater wisdom, one that reaches beyond the act of writing into the art of living itself. Too often we wait for the perfect moment to begin — the right plan, the right time, the right order. But life, like the story, rarely unfolds according to our designs. The ancients would say that the divine speaks not from the beginning, but from the fire of the present — from what is most vivid in our imagination and desire. To begin there, even if the way forward and backward is uncertain, is to honor the truth of the moment. It is to trust that clarity will come through creation, not before it.

Cleary’s approach mirrors the journey of the soul: we do not start life with full knowledge of our story; we begin where we are most alive, and from that point we trace meaning in all directions. Her words remind us that one’s imagination — that inner vision — knows more than one’s intellect. When a vision stirs within you, do not wait for the map. Begin there. Create, build, act — and let understanding follow. The imagination, once awakened, draws the rest of the pattern into being. Just as a writer’s story finds its beginning only after she has written her middle, so too does one’s purpose reveal itself only after one dares to begin.

The lesson, then, is timeless and profound: begin where the light is brightest within you. Do not wait for order, or permission, or perfection. Begin where your imagination calls you, where your passion stirs, and where your heart is most vivid. Work forward and backward from that place, shaping your path as you go. For the story of life, like any great tale, is not written in sequence, but in spirit. Its beauty lies not in its structure, but in the vitality of its creation.

Thus, as Beverly Cleary reminds us, creation — whether of art or of self — is not about starting at the beginning, but about beginning where the soul burns brightest. Follow that fire, and the rest will come. For it is not through reason that we find our way, but through imagination — the eternal compass of the human heart.