26
I dream I’m reading. It’s not like when I’m dreaming I’m running. I know where that comes from – the accident that deprived me of the ability to run. As a kid, I could just about outrun everybody – not in terms of speed (although I was quickish), but endurance. I could run and run and run, could push through fatigue, and feel like nothing could stop me. Driving me harder, further, and sometimes faster, was my stubbornness. When I was just eighteen or nineteen, sometimes I’d break into a sprint, like anxiety was a fuel I needed to burn off before it incinerated me. In sport, I was always…
Seven
I inherited my love of reading from one of my older brothers, and naturally – like a lot of boys – gravitated to the allure of fantasy. Reading The Lord of the Rings as a 12-year-old was as close to a divine experience as I’d ever had. It wasn’t just the story, although there’s enough in that to inspire awe and wonder. But what overwhelmed me more was the history this world contained – a history that spanned millennia and was imbued in every bit of geography, motivated every character, and contextualized every event. One of my issues with storytelling is when it feels like the story, or the world…