This is the house my father built, and where I lived for the first seventeen years of my life. It is gone now, torn down to make way for a suburban mega-mansion. I return there in memory and in dreams. I wrote my first book in my room on the second floor, scrawling the story on West Virginia Brick notepads.  I spun a tale of the twins who lived in the attic and had tantalizing secrets. The Homco Lab Papers. Privately published for only the stuffed animals who lived in my room.