My story began fifty years ago with my best friend Ellen and I playing our favorite game—school. Since Ellen was four years older, she got to be the teacher, and a terror she was! As the hapless student, if I didn’t learn my spelling words, Ellen would energetically apply her ruler to my backside. I was soon a most exemplary student and kept my excellent study habits for the remainder of my life. The greatest tribute to Ellen’s tenacious teaching style was that by the time I was five years old I could read at first-grade level. Doors began opening in my mind, and reading became my greatest pleasure and one I pursued voraciously. Ironically, Ellen now works for the IRS and continues, at least metaphorically, to apply her ruler.

Reading became my addiction. I took another quantum leap in junior high when I registered for a speed-reading course. Now I not only read a lot, but I read a lot really fast. In addition, my ability to completely block out all activity when reading was a talent that drove my parents totally crazy. If we ever have a nuclear war, I doubt I’ll know it until the universe is completely annihilated and I complete whatever I happen to be reading and find angels playing harps all around me.

My taste in literature has always been rather eclectic. If it’s in print, I’ll read it, whether biography, romance, mystery, cereal boxes—I’m sure you get the idea. I can’t say my reading has led me to any great revelations or astounding insights. My life in general has remained boringly normal. I have discovered many friends in books—ones that I revisit again and again with great pleasure—and I marvel at the talent and imagination of those who can create worlds within worlds for us to enjoy. It wasn’t until late in life that I discovered something that led me to stray from my steadfast and steady existence.