Not job interview, not a radio interview. No, the first time I interviewed someone else. I was thirteen. My family and I journeyed to La Pine, Oregon, to visit my grandparents. I already took up my insatiable habit of writing all the time, so I carried a little notebook with me and worked on my stories, drafting new ideas for novels and reworking the novel I had already completed. My grandparents took us down the road to a little house and a huge garage. A garage bigger than my horse’s barn twice over. Inside there was a collection of old cars and World War II memorabilia. The owner, a World...