Since childhood I’ve lost myself in books. Or, rather, I’ve found myself in books. It started with the Andrew Lang Fairy Book series, continued with Yeats’ Irish Fairy and Folk Tales, Jane Eyre, The Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Nancy Drew mysteries, T.H. White’s The Once and Future King, and so much more. I was often reprimanded for reading fiction during math class; however, that didn’t stop me. Reading was both an escape and a way to understand the world. Nothing else quite satisfied that itch.

I suppose it’s natural for an obsessive reader to become an obsessive writer. Writing to me is an intimate act for both reader and writer. It is the interiority of the one addressing the interiority of the other. It is a space to explore complexity in a world that is becoming increasingly reductive. It is hard work, but when it is going well, there is nothing else like it.