At six-years-old, I published my own comic book series starring Peter Pan. He jumped into adventure, narrowly missing capture and certain death by his arch enemy, Captain Hook. Most pages featured a green stick figure sword-fighting with a red stick figure. Still, it was pretty good for a six-year-old. I wrote a lot of stories in junior high, high school, and college, and my teachers seemed to like them. I liked it when they read my stories out loud and my classmates laughed in all the right places. There is nothing like that feeling. If I wasn’t a writer, I’d own a diner and call it Netti’s. It would be small—you’d probably pass it if you drove by too fast—but my regulars would be loyal. “Try the sweet potato loaf,” they’d tell each other. “It is to die for!” If you want, you can call me Danette. Here’s how you say it: d’NET or DihNET. Some people confuse this with “dinette,” which is actually a table. (You can tell the difference because I do not have four legs and I am not a table.) If you forget, don’t worry. People have called me Jeanette, Janet, Denise, Danita, Danielle, and Darnet. So even if you say it wrong, I will still turn around and smile and say “Hi,” especially if you are holding a donut.