Two and half years ago, I was walking on a treadmill at the gym and a memory came to me of how I’d always wanted to write a book.
I’ve been very busy for the past thirty or so years, so I suppose calling myself a late bloomer is appropriate. On this particular night, however, I felt something come over me as if I was possessed. I’m not sure what triggered it or whether the thought came from somewhere internally or I saw or heard something that brought it to the surface. All I knew was I had a story to tell. I didn’t know it then but apparently, I had many stories to tell. Here I am three published stories later with no end in sight—thank goodness.
Here’s how it all started.
In February of 2012, my life was a lot different than it is right now. My son…
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