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Sue Bradford Edwards

Writer--Reviewer--Teacher--Historian

BIOGRAPHY

Anyone who has known me more than five minutes knows that I ask questions about everything, whether I am writing, doing research or critiquing a manuscript for a fellow writer. Early on, curious objects around our home sparked my wonder — fossils and arrow heads made me want to know about the worlds from which they came. Walks with my father and grandfathers were spent toeing over rocks to see what lay beneath.

A closed box has always made me want to know what is inside — no matter where this box might be. On one early trip to the St. Louis Art Museum, my father took me to see the mummy in its decorated case. Ever curious, I soon dropped to the floor to gaze up into the lid and, fortunately, curiosity is contagious. Instead of telling me to get up, the guard shone his flashlight into the shadowy lid so that I could better see the treasures painted there.

Sue Bradford Edwards at 6 years Me at 6 years--some time after the acorn incident.

I just had to know about the inside of that case and so many other things. I peppered my parents with a stream of questions. "Why? Why? Why?" Not that I quickly accepted the answers they gave me--after all, why would squirrels eat acorns if they tasted bad? At a loss for how to convince me, my father watched while I ate it and then laughed as I spent the rest of the walk spitting it out. Not that this dampened my need to know. Soon enough this drive caught the attention of my classmates who quickly nicknamed me "Professor."

In high school I took a summer class in field archaeology and got to dig parts of an ancient village. I spent sweaty days with two other students lifting away the soil to reveal the outlines of homes, storage pits and cooking fires. All of this mystery hidden beneath my feet on so many walks. I was hooked.

Sue Bradford Edwards in an archaeology unit at the Bridgeton site. Me in an archaeology unit in college.

In college I studied anthropology and archaeology, finding the answers to some questions and yet still more to ask. My professors taught me to question everything I read, seeking out the writer's bias. I learned to look at not only what they said, but what they didn't say.

During college and for a few years afterwards, I worked as an archaeological illustrator. This meant that I got to illustrate the reports about what was found. Sometimes I created topographic maps from raw numbers but more often I used existing maps to plot out the sites we were digging and what we found. I also learned to draw artifacts including pottery sherds and stone tools, bits of china plates and funerary medallions. I even learned a tricky little way to tell left over bits of bone from the flakes of stone found around cooking fires. (The answer is at the bottom of the page but if you're squeamish--don't look. And if you do, don't say I didn't warn you!)

Back in school, I earned a Master's degree in immigration history -- a major that didn't really exist but that my professors helped me to create to satisfy my curiosity about when, why and how people ended up at various places in this country. My professors introduced me to primary research and oral history interviews which enabled me to strike out on my own to seek out answers.

While working on my degree, I discovered the perfect way to explore the many things that fascinated me -- writing for children. My parents weren't in the least bit surprised according to my mother who told me that she always expected me to write and do research.

Writing for young readers has given me the chance to study many kinds of horses, bald eagles, sharks, earthquakes, and much more. One editor even asked me to write a column on horse manure--imagine trying to calculate just how much poop a horse makes each day. Who knows what I'll next explore?

How to tell if something is a piece of bone or stone--

(Again--do not read this if you are squeamish!)

Look at the color. Bone often turns slightly blue when it burns. Limestone is tinted pink.
Put it in your mouth. Really. The bone will stick like crazy to your tongue when the pores wick up the moisture. Stone doesn't do this--although sometimes an especially porous piece of concrete will. And, yes, my mother knew I did this and it grossed her out.

Contact Sue.