I've been making up stories since I fell out of a tree I wasn't supposed to climb and needed a good excuse for my parents.
I've been making up stories since I fell out of a tree I wasn't supposed to climb and needed a good excuse for my parents.
I grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts - on a dead end street with woods behind our house that went on forever. There was a monster in my basement. A swamp across the street. And a family with a car that seemed to run over every cat that dared to go outside.
Making things up was just something I always did. It was as natural as having to be home when the street lights came on. Even as a kid I found that telling stories was powerful - bullies, friends, teachers gave me space whenever I made stuff up that filled the gaps in my life that needed filling.
For me, that's what writing is. It's the mortar that holds all of life's loose bricks together. I may not always build a perfect wall or a straight house or a story without holes, but getting messy trying to hold all the crazy pieces together makes it all worthwhile.
Montreal - September 2005