Like many of you, I grew up in a family that loved to tell stories. Often, during family get-togethers the women would gather around the dinner table and the men in another area and they would partake of these extravagant tales. Some would be larger than life but true, others larger than life but not-so. My sister and I would eavesdrop until we were shooed away. From these experts, though, I learned the art of storytelling. In my work here, I get to meet people and share their stories. No fudging though; no stretching the truth. But in my other work as a novelist, I get to do my own thing. I grew up in Chicago. (I met my husband in high school.) I've been with the Tribune since 1988. Most of that time has been spent as an editor. I've written the column for the last six years. Though I love writing, it still scares the hell out of me. Nothing makes my stomach seize like the blank page. Still, I can't imagine doing anything else, in any other city.
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