Laurie Marks

I don't remember writing it, as I was three years old. And no, I didn't know how to write. I drew the story in pictures and narrated it to my father, who wrote it down and then had his secretary type it. Let me just add that I grew up in a stereotypical 1950s family, in a neighborhood of ranch houses where the kids played kickball in the street. Yet I was troubled by repeating nightmares because whenever I looked at anything, I perceived it to be composed of moving dots of color which I found quite threatening, a fact that baffled my parents. My first story recounted one of my color dreams.

People often describe me as organized, and assume I'm being modest when I answer that I'm compensating for extreme forgetfulness and disorganization. Similarly, my writing process is so messy it's difficult to describe, but fortunately I do write in a linear fashion from beginning to end. I don't start writing unless I know the beginning and the ending, but what is to happen in-between always is a mystery to me and, needless to say, I frequently can't figure out my own story. Fortunately, writing is a kind of thinking, and if I just keep putting words on paper, the story emerges. Even more fortunately, I enjoy revising, because I am fated to do an awful lot of it. For me, revising is real writing, and I rush through the first draft since I know I'll throw the whole thing out, anyway.