I was born in Lynn, Massachusetts, an industrial city 15 miles north of Boston, on the coast. With two older sisters and one older brother, I was the youngest of four. Because of the age difference between my siblings and me, I played a lot by myself and became a voracious reader; in second grade I won the summer reading competition at our neighborhood branch library by reading over 200 picture books. 

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And yes, I am a nerd.

 

Dad was a Protestant and Mom was a Catholic, and I went to our local Catholic school. I think the sisters there fostered the love of words that I had inherited from my mother. I remember being fascinated by phonics worksheets and diagramming sentences (yeah, I was that kid). My seventh-grade teacher, Sister Theresa, was and still is a positive influence in my life.

 

In high school I was lucky enough to find another teacher, Mr. Hathaway, who encouraged my writing. He was the first person I remember who told me I could be a writer; before that, I hadn't given it any thought. I figured I would major in biology in college and spend my career cleaning test tubes; I had no idea how advanced degrees in science worked, how you got one, or even more important, how you financed one. But with his encouragement, I signed up to major in journalism in college, Northeastern University in Boston.

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