INDULGING MY ADDICTIONS

What makes your life worth living? What do you feel you couldn't live without? If you had to give it up, could you survive? I believe I couldn't live without books.

When I was a child I developed two addictions, reading and fantasy. I discovered books early. My grandmother, who died when I was six months old,  had bequeathed a wonderful library to my father. It contained everything from children's books,  (Anderson and Grimm Fairy Tales, Heidi and Mona, the Goat Boy, Three Years Before the Mast, Robinson Crusoe) to the works of the major British and American poets, and the Complete Works of Shakespeare,  Charles Dickens, George Elliot, and Walt Whitman.

In addition, my grandmother had obviously had a fascination with disasters. Her library included the The Last Days of Pompeii, The Sinking of the Titanic, The San Francisco Earthquake, The Johnston Flood and a strange and terrifying religious tract, Dying Testimonies of the Saved and Unsaved.It also contained light novels that had been popular in her day--stories about loose women who wore "lip rouge" and picked up strangers on the train.

Reading became my magic doorway to the world outside of the family, the small town, the restrictions of of the Catholic school and my mother, a more than strict Catholic. When I was nearly thirteen, my mother became concerned about my addictions. This was partly because, instead of doing chores, I could be found hidden away reading. Also, I believe, because she feared I might be unduly affected by frivolous thoughts, she began to restrict my choices. She declared the popular novels out of bounds.

She gave me a personal copy of the  Holy Bible for my pious edification. Did she realize that this tome, especially the Old Testament would open my mind to large ethical questions, to tales of murder, genocide, human sacrifice, necromancy, as well as the lovely Song of Solomon and sensuality? I'm sure she merely expected to focus my mind on the specific values she wished to inculcate--honor thy parents, don't steal, lie, cheat, or date outside of your religion.

My second addiction, fantasy, also began to cause problems for me at school. I constantly invented stories, inspired by my reading. My younger siblings enjoyed hearing my tales, but if I had no audience I still invented stories inside my own head. At school I rushed through my assignments and then, if I had no book to read surreptitiously beneath my desk, I would close my eyes, put my head down on my desk, and imagine myself the hero of some amazing adventure. This habit brought me to the attention of my teacher, a sweet old nun, who pulled me out of class to question me about my obvious distraction. "Does it have anything to do with sin?" She asked. She wrote a letter to my mother, advising her of my proclivity. Since I was an A student and a well behaved child, my mother expressed mild concern, but I began to examine my own addiction.

This introspection was a catalyst for my writing. Instead of putting my head down and retreating into an internal world of fantasy, I took out a pencil and notebook and began to write my stories. The teachers took no issue if they saw me writing enthusiastically, which became my habit and led to my most fatal addiction, WRITING.

Even if no one reads my stories, essays, or plays, something inside me needs expression. If I were locked in a closet, I would be happy with a flashlight, a book, and a notebook. I count myself lucky to be living in this digital age which provides me with the opportunity to create  and publish and imagine countless readers, responding to my words.