One Writers Beginnings 1 I learned from the age of two or three that any room in our house, at any time of day, was there to read in, or to be read to. My mother read to me. Shed read to me in the big bedroom in the mornings, when we were in her rocker together, which ticked in rhythm as we rocked, as though we had a cricket accompanying the story. Shed read to me in the dining room on winter afternoons in front of the coal fire, with our cuckoo clock ending the story with Cuckoo, an