When I first started working on this book, I kept having nightmares (not dreams, nightmares) that my parents sent me back to camp for another summer, as an adult. Those nasty old mattresses, that rock-hard toilet paper, those bunks we never swept no matter whose turn it was according to the job wheel. I’m practically a germaphobe today, how did I do it?

And yet I loved it, as did so many other people. I used to think my camp in Maine was different from everyone else’s, what with its seeming lack of rules and barely edible food. But as I handed off drafts of this book to friends for their comments, what I found instead was that my experience was pretty much universal. Everyone remembers their summer camp as kind of dirty and gross and everyone feels kind of awkward at thirteen (although most have gotten over it by their mid-forties).

So my camp – and I – were not so unique or special after all, which, come to think of it, was what I always wanted. And, lucky me, I didn’t have to go back and share a mosquito-ridden bunk with eight girls who look better in bathing suits than I do to write this.

I hope you’re here at this web site because you loved camp. Or because you hated it. In either case, I hope you’ve read my book. Or you’re thinking about it. At the very least, I hope you bought it. After that, it’s pretty much out of my hands. Click on the links if you want to send me an email or share a camp story or do whatever else these fabulous web site designers have come up with.

Thanks for visiting and have a great summer.