i grew up wanting to be so many things. this started my imagination going in a myriad of directions and posed the difficult question of how was i going to be all these things in one lifetime. being an avid reader did not help in my narrowing down of who i would be and how many kinds of being i could be. it seemed every book i read i wanted to be the main character, have their life and adventures. i turned nineteen and began writing my own stories. i discovered that i could experience a bunch of different ways of being by making up my desired lives.
i could be a potter and live in a lesbian art community (the wish list) or a pickle heiress and a talk show host (back talk) or a dog that loved to play fly ball and a midget who embraced her height (date night club) or a womanizer who finally finds love (higher ground) or a sculptor who gives love a second go around (sweet fire) or a doctor that falls in love with a woman who only wears pajamas (talk of the town) or a trilogy that follows a neurotic writer and her family through a lot of amusing changes( family affair, marching to a different accordion, in the unlikely event) i would dream up ways of being and then tell the story.
wow, that was fun and after thirteen books it’s still fun. now, let me see…who shall i be next?