I love books of all sorts, especially children’s books. I once worked in children’s books with no qualifications (academic) whatsoever. I learned to read on my mother’s lap, my father’s lap -- I could read long before I got to school, and have never lost the wonder, never lost the suspension of disbelief, never been literary enough to recognize the techniques that bring me to laughter or tears.
I can memorize Shakespearean soliloquies on the subway, and be scared by Stephen King. The older I get, the less analysis I’m capable of, so I’ve reverted to my purely emotional, visceral responses.
I no longer mind not being as smart as my best friend, ’cause I have my own brand of smarts. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, it just is what it is.
I intend this to be about life. Which has a beginning and an end for each of us, without a discernible middle. We can never know when we’re in middle age because we don’t know when we’re going to die. So I have never been nor will I ever be middle aged. Right?