Childhood

My childhood, in a small town in the South of France, is rather quiet. Sunshine, Mistral, sunshine, torrential rain, sunshine, Festival d’Art Lyrique, sunshine. Boring.

At the time, I’m not interested in a grownup world. I’d rather just read. I fly through books by the dozen, especially science-fiction novels. I look for two things: suspense and the exotic.

Some writers will stay with me forever: Isaac Asimov (I got my taste for surprise endings, a direct style and humorous side notes from him), Ray Bradbury (for his dark side and sense of poetic desperation), Jack Vance (such a wonderful storyteller, the smells and the tastes…) and above all, Stephen King (he’d be God himself if God ever swore).

Of course, I get a strong itch to tell my own stories. So I play, by myself, and I make up little scenarios. When an American friend tells me about Dungeons & Dragons, a roleplaying game that was just released in the USA, my mind just clicks. Finally, there is a way for me to build my own adventures. I was just starting school in sixième (sixth grade).