I’ve been telling stories for as long as I can remember. I’m not saying I’m a liar, just that I’m a writer. At long last, at the ripe middle age of 50 – doesn’t get any more middle than that – I am about to start an MFA in Creative Nonfiction. Surprising on the nonfiction front, considering my love of embellishment, but I digress. As a child, I lived in books. I read voraciously to visit the worlds I could barely comprehend and embrace them as my own. By the time I was ten, I’d been into space, lived at the bottom of the sea, traveled the world and fallen in love at least a million times. Books took me places without ever leaving the back yard of our Central Valley home in Fresno California.