My brother, sister and I were raised in a two room shack next to a Mississippi River levee, some seventy miles below New Orleans. We had no electricity or running water. We used a outhouse out back. I often sat on the river bank and watched ships from far flung parts of the world make their way against the current toward New Orleans. I would dream of some day being able to travel to the countries from which those ships came. At night my mother would read to us by the light of a kerosene lamp, and my imaganation would soar. I started to write when more...
