![]() ![]() What solace it was to discover in books characters who shared emotions I was unable to explain, even to myself, but which I felt so intensely. But, like everyone, I had my secret joys and sorrows, confusions, embarrassments, and terrors, many of which I recall vividly. In that way, I was able to have exciting adventures and experience life from the point of view of people very different from myself. The books I liked best were the ones that made me feel as if I was right in the story, part of what was happening. I read everything: “good” books and “junk,” including all the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books, comic books, and, my favorite, MAD magazine. ![]() ![]() ![]() I loved choosing the books I wanted, taking them home, putting my nameplate inside, and taking my time deciding which ones to read first. To me, those trips to the bookstore were even better than the rare occasions when we were given a quarter and turned loose at the penny-candy store on the boardwalk. Summer vacations began with a trip to the bookstore, where my sister, my brothers, and I were allowed to pick out books for our summer reading. My parents read to me, bought me books, and took me to the library. When I was a child I didn’t write much, and never dreamed of becoming a writer. ![]()
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