I tell people that this story started out as a screenplay, and that's mostly true. A very different version of it started out as a novel - but not one for kids. It came from a fantasy I've had about the possibility of disappearing. What would it be like to slip out of your own life and land in a slinky new one? I brought it up once to my good friend from college, E. We were just a couple years out of school, working stupid jobs and nervous, I guess, about what was next. I said, "Have you ever thought about disappearing?" Montana was my dream destination. Some small town where I could have a horse.

Yes, E had thought of it, too. She'd thought of it so much, in fact, that she already had the perfect disguise. When I'd met her -- at 19 -- she already had a full head of gray hair hidden underneath bright red dye. When she was ready to disappear, she told me, she was going to shave her head and let it grow back its natural, premature gray. I hadn't even thought about a disguise. Too busy trying to name my horse.

Immediately after our conversation, I started writing a novel about what happens to a woman after her best friend from college disappears. That's also when I happened upon the book, How To Disappear Completely and Never Be Found by Doug Richmond. I hadn't been looking for it, would never have imagined that it even existed...I'd just been killing time in a bookstore, wandering up and down aisles. It was a thin white book with a picture of one of those plastic noses and dark-rimmed glasses on the cover - a stand-up comedian's prop, a drugstore disguise. But this book was no joke. It was a genuine how-to manual for people who truly wanted or needed to escape. I couldn't believe I'd found it.

I slapped on the title as a guidepost and continued to write, but never managed to get one of my angst-ridden 20-somethings to actually disappear. Fortunately, right about the time they were meeting in a smoky bar once again, I was asked to tag along on a camping trip with my older brother, my sister-in-law, and my two nieces, Sara and Lindsey. Our destination -- funnily enough -- Montana, and it was on that trip that I discovered who my real characters were. I was lucky enough to share a tent with them.

Sara was nine and teetering on that pre-teen edge. Lindsey was almost five and in love with her big sister. I wanted to write a story for them, the kind that I lived for at their age: From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, My Side of the Mountain, Julie of the Wolves, any story involving orphans and deserted islands. (More recent favorites: Holes, Dave at Night, The Goats.) These are stories about kids who take risks -- usually involving some sort of disappearing act -- and, in doing so, make important discoveries both about themselves and their world. I spent hours living through these characters' adventures, daydreaming about my own escape and potentially remarkable survival abilities. Dreaming about growing up.

I first wrote this version of How To Disappear and Never Be Found first as a screenplay. It was optioned for a short time and made it to the semi-final round of the Nicholl Screenwriting Competition, but what I kept hearing from several different people was, "It should really be a novel." I finally listened. All that remains of that original story (my angst-ridden 20-somethings) is the title, and I was pretty sure that would be changed -- too long, already used -- but it's still there, and I'm glad. It's one of the best titles I've come across.

I was fortunate to come across something else in a bookstore, too. While still fumbling with the outline for the screenplay, I stopped into a wonderful used bookstore in the small town of Duvall, Washington. Once again, I found myself wandering the aisles, not looking for anything in particular, just running my hand along rows and rows of books. My fingers stopped on a a skinny, handwritten book of poetry, held together with construction paper and staples and complete with beautiful drawings of plants and flowers. It was titled, "The Four Seasons," and was by Anonymous. Someone wanting to be seen but needing to hide. I thought wouldn't it be great if a character left clues to a small-town mystery by slipping handwritten books into the local library? A few days later I heard a story on NPR about a man, I think in the midwest, who opened a library for unpublished manuscripts. I knew he had a place in my story. It's funny how things come together.