In our house we repeated the pattern of thousands of other homes. There were a few books and a lot of music. Our food and our furniture were no different from our neighbors'.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
My house was filled with music. We had a piano, and my brothers and sisters played instruments. Even though I was around it, I played basketball.
When I was little, there were so many people in my house. Everyone was enjoying themselves, rehearsing, having fun. It was like a playground.
My sister and I did not have our own rooms, or even a place to ourselves. In the living room, beyond the two windows, was a little corner where my books were kept, and other thing - my watercolors and so on. Often I had to imagine the things I needed. I learned very early to read amidst noise.
I'm living out a childhood fantasy. Our house is in a historic district of a small town that I used to read about in storybooks.
I grew up in a very normal home.
This house I grew up in was built in the 1800s, and the back yard was like a cemetery. Naturally, I grew up in an environment where ghosts and supernatural things were very unnerving to me, because my brothers and I dealt with it on a daily basis.
I've written in every imaginable location; a repurposed closet, the kitchen table, the bleachers while my kids had basketball practice, the front seat of the car when they were at soccer. In airports. On trains. In the break room when I was supposed to be wolfing down dinner. In the back of classrooms when I was supposed to be paying attention.
When I was at my height on TV, I was always busy - rehearsing, practising my impressions, learning new material. When that faded, I had to find another way to be creative. Houses were something to do instead. They saved me.
My house was very strange. I didn't do things other kids did because my parents were very strict - I stayed at home, quiet in my room.
Our house is a constant mayhem of music, noise, socializing and business. It vibrates life, as a house should.