The deep and painful rift between Mother and me began in the 1960s when I started college. The road had been rocky before then. Members of my immediate and extended family needed to accuse someone for the crippling effects of my father’s heroin addiction. In a Jewish family like mine, the shame of my father’s addiction was just too difficult to face.
Words, plots, characters gushed out of me yet never once did I take the time to see if the words were apt; if the plot had inner consistency; if the characters were realistic and likeable.