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I grew up in the Boston area in the 1970s. My mother was a preschool teacher and my father a playwright. I remember visiting my mother s classroom and reading to the children there; even more vividly, I remember sitting in the back row of theater after theater, watching rehearsals seeing stories come to life. My mother read me countless picture books, but at my father s house there wasn t much of that nature. He read me what was at hand: "Alice s Adventures in Wonderland", "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", Sherlock Holmes stories. He also made up stories for me and recounted the plots of Shakespeare s plays.
I was a raw child. In fact, I am a raw adult. This is a hard quality to live with sometimes, but it is a useful quality if you want to be a writer. It is easy to hurt my feelings, and I am unable to watch the news or read about painful subjects without weeping. I was often called oversensitive when I was young, but I ve learned to appreciate this quality in myself,