Prepare to be awed, entertained, jealous or super bored.
I grew up in a small town in Indiana. I was pretty shy and aside from occasional trips down the street to play with the neighbor kids, I kept to myself and our television set. I wasn’t a latch-key kid, but did spend considerable time with the television and found it to be my window to the urban world I found so fascinating.
I didn’t fully understand how scripted television shows were produced, so logically assumed everyone’s homes had hidden cameras everyone: hidden in light fixtures, behind portraits, in the medicine cabinet. I figured it was someone’s job to pore over the millions of hours of video captures from every home in America and put together what was considered the best of shows: I was determined to be one of those shows.
That was the impetus for using my imagination. When my two older sisters weren’t torturing me or using me as slave labor, I enjoyed many adventures, pretending with friends, alone or just pretending to have friends.
Therein my love of writing was born. Though I didn’t script all my adventures on paper, it was writing nonetheless. I remember at age thirteen, embracing a stack of notebook paper and pen and penning a (horrific) novel that was a rip-off of “Dallas” and much more poorly written. But it was mine, and I was proud of it, and excited by it.