The impulse to dream was slowly beaten out of me by experience. Now it surged up again and I hungered for books, new ways of looking and seeing.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
For many, many years, I thought that I wasn't good enough or that I would never be able to create something that could touch other people the way books have touched me. There's nothing better than having a lifelong dream come true.
In my subconscious, my books were part of a single emotional journey.
I really had a lot of dreams when I was a kid, and I think a great deal of that grew out of the fact that I had a chance to read a lot.
You don't know when you are immersed in a book what the reaction to it will be, but I feel great about 'The Lake of Dreams.'
I loved to read and to write, but then something happened. As I made my way through school, I kept getting handed books to read that didn't excite me and didn't even remotely connect to the realities of my life.
I dreamed of having a book of my own, of writing one that I could put on a shelf.
There was part of me that wanted to see the world and travel to distant places, but I could only do it in my imagination, so I read ferociously and imagined things.
When the dream came into being, I always pursued it.
I had this dream to become a writer since I was a teenager.
I used to read about people who'd say, 'I dream my books, and then I write them down.' And I was like, 'Oh, please.'