Being the narcissist that I am, and also being frustrated by how long it is taking for Rusty to accept his love for Matty, I am reading my own stories. As a child Wayne's age, I had a teddy bear named Honey, and my brother, who is two years older, had a rag doll named George. There is so much of me in all of my stories, both as one of the boys, and as the father figure. But, as another author once said, "write about what you know," which I have done, heavily embellished with self-hero worship (What Is True Love Anyway) and wishful thinking.