Growing up as an only child until I was nine had a lot to do with making me a storyteller. I wasn’t really alone because I had my imagination and spent loads of time there.
I also had Grandma and she did two amazing things for me. She told me stories of her own and she listened to mine. I’d sit at the table in her warm kitchen and kick my toes under my chair because my feet didn’t yet touch the floor. I'd talk while Grandma listened with a twinkle in her eye behind her rimless glasses. Because of Grandma I love to tell stories.
In the eighth grade I had a teacher named Mrs. Mahon. I was a restless, troublesome student. Then she assigned a writing project and I wrote several pages without a restless moment
