I’m not sure what made me a writer. Part of it may be in the genes.  One close relative was a writer, but he wasn’t sure where he got the talent or the basic inclination.  Most of my blood relatives weren’t even readers, and they didn’t venture into other creative things. There were exceptions.  Some of the women developed traditional female interests, such as sewing, embroidery and crocheting.  They made beautiful things, and any knee-jerk feminist reaction to that would be a mistake.  Those women were artists, in spite of the fact that their art was expected of them. One … Continue reading Trauma and Creativity