For as long back as I can remember, I have wanted to be a writer. When I was young, I used to write wild and fantastical stories. My mom thought they were brilliant. My dad wasn’t so sure.

The stories were about everything from made-up monsters to my dad hunting rats. In my defense, that last one came after a girl in my class bragged about her dad’s hunting prowess. To me, hunting rats seemed a logical response at the time. The teacher—and my father—disagreed. It was a darn good story, though, so I kept on writing.