I was five years old when I saw King Kong on television. Something in me identified with that hapless giant. Kong, like myself, had a problem with the world's scale. He was too big for everything, and a kid is too small. And I liked the way he lashed out when misunderstood. Whatever the reason, I loved Kong like a brother. But then the planes came and mighty Kong was felled. My heart was broken, I was inconsolable. My parents tried to explain to me that Kong was made up. He hadn't really died. It was all a story. My recent attempts at flying and X-ray vision had failed despite my owning a Superman suit, so their words carried some sobering weight. If it's all story, what about monsters? What about Oz? What about the jolly fat man at the North Pole? I remember asking the kid down the street, "Who makes this stuff up? " "Grown ups," he answered. I felt bitter and betrayed. But fate played its hand well. A few days later there was a new book at the library called Where the Wild Things Are. Some grown-up had drawn these great, scary, funny things, so I kept doing it, but now with a little more purpose. My first full-fledged picture book, entitled Billy's Booger, got me sent to the principal's office. But my work became less excremental, and by the end of college, I was published.

What's next? Another book?

I'm working on sequel to Santa Calls, and a book about Robots called Roly, Poly, Olie as well as the screen plays of A Day with Wilbur Robinson with Disney and Santa Calls with Francis Ford Coppola and Warner Brothers.

What do you try to accomplish with your books?

I try to create that heady buzz I felt when I was a kid and the movies gave me worlds filled with heroes, monsters, and adventures too good to be true. In my books high spirits are always shared, good humor appreciated, and eccentricity is not only tolerated, but encouraged. My characters are willing to fight for their right to act odd and suave. Kids like to believe in these things, and grown-ups still try to. Which is maybe why adults like my books as much as kids do. They're trying to hold on to something they think they've lost.