There's a Small Problem With Your Future Dream of Becoming a Writer

You already are one

My mother, Nancy Lewis, writing in 1963

I could feel it coming. I was about to lie.

I had just arrived at a friend’s dinner party where all the elements of a typical social gathering fell quickly into place. Hellos and hugs, a long-stemmed glass of Cabernet Sauvignon placed in my hand, quick intros to a few folks I’d never met—one a teacher, another a psy…