In my novel, Pop, I describe several different ways that I tried to escape from life with an alcoholic parent. Since I was a child, my attempts were limited. Everytime we went somewhere in the car, I would stare out the window into other cars. Whether it was another child or adult, I would wish I could trade places with them. I would have gladly taken on their life with their set of problems since my problems seemed so overwhelming. It seemed like I could not do any worse than what I already had to deal with. I also escaped by withdrawing into myself. I put up that brick wall, piece by piece. It’s ironic that it can only come down piece by piece. It was scary to take that wall down and let myself be vulnerable again. My biggest and easiest escape was reading. I explain how I would check out as many books from the library as I could, only to read them all before the weekend was up. I even got into trouble for reading too much! My mom would force me to go outside. My sister understood my survival technique and would sneak my book out to me under her shirt. My love of books and reading has always helped me cope with life. Being immersed in a story can transport you into a different time and place. I found that my writing can do the same. I hope others will think so too.