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I was an only child. Coupled with the fact that I was raised by depression era grandparents, and the generation gap was extreme I was alone a lot as a child.
That sounds pretty maudlin, and my grandparents loved me, and I them. I had a good life, but the situation was what it was, and I spent a lot of my time in my own head. What that did for me was show me that–it wasn’t such a bad place to be.
I could create my own world. The one I really wanted to live in, or sometimes, the ones I didn’t want to live in. I could explore my own reality and many other realities. I could tear about society’s ideals, my own ideals and create better ideals–or sometimes just find out what happened when you really did follow the rabbit down the rabbit hole.
Those early days set up a love for both creating my own worlds and stories, and getting lost deep in other people’s worlds. I was an avid reader from a very early age. The love for words was born and while it may have lingered unattended once in awhile, it never really goes away. All my life I’ve been a writer and explorer of the human condition, the world and visions of what life could be.