Charles Bock

Death Of A Salesman,' 'Streetcar Named Desire,' these are the things that, when I was growing up, made me want to be an artist.

I never ran away, but I was very unhappy as a teenager. I felt like a complete nonentity, and I very tangibly have memories of not wanting to be here - in my body.

Las Vegas is a great place to be from, not to live in.

My grandfather was a pawnbroker, and when I was in first or second grade, my parents opened their own store. I probably learned to count by putting pawn tickets in numerical order in the back room of the shop.

Too often in this world, the things you root for - whether sports teams or spouses to recover from horrible diseases - don't quite pan out.

I was not a happy or popular or happy-with-myself kid, and I wasn't an especially motivated student, either.

I was always small and thin. I wasn't the kid who got invited to parties.

When I was in grad school, I wrote one early story that was Vegas, and then I stayed away from it. I was trying to expand and do different things. I knew I would write about it, but I stayed away for as long as I could.

My parents have a pawnshop in Downtown Las Vegas for quite awhile. I grew up seeing people come in and want - need - money so they could go and gamble again or so they could pay their bills or whatever reason, and try and sell items that were of value to them.

I was an unhappy teenager, and there's just no way around it.

I'm not really a meditator. I'm, like, a napper.

My quilting is dookie. All needlepoint-related things I should do better on, being honest.