When I was a kid, I used to imagine driving around in an invisible car with my mom. Every time we drove anywhere, the grocery store, school functions, the mall, I imagined our car invisible. I guess I had a big imagination. No wonder I write.
It seemed like a cool idea at first. But I quickly realized the dangers.
If other drivers can’t see you, they don’t know you’re coming when (if) they look before pulling out.
Crash, bang, boom!
Accidents left and right.
So what if the invisible car could also fly? Then we could jump up whenever someone pulled out in front of us, thereby avoiding accidents. The problem is that the driver of the invisible flying car would have to have the reflexes of a fighter pilot. My mother did not. Most people do not.
Despite the evident dangers of an invisible car, I couldn’t shake the idea. It was with me every car ride. Would we be invisible, too? Sometimes I imagined it that way and felt a bit like a superhero. Other times I thought it would be funny if only the car was invisible, but everyone could see us, floating along in a sitting position, eyes ahead.
Maybe this is where I got the idea to write about an invisible boy. I don’t really know anymore. It could also have been that Sesame Street episode where Snuffleupagus becomes invisible with the help of a magical musical instrument. Ahem. Either way, it was great to write about a kid who actually gets to become invisible, like a childhood dream, and to make up the rules to go with that premise.
Would his clothes disappear with him? What about the bike he rode on or the chair he sat on at the time? Could he become invisible at will, or did it happen when he least expected it? What did his friends and family think? Or didn’t he tell them?
Well, to see how I handled these questions you’ll have to read the book. Someday, when it’s published.