Too little, too late

I can't think of a time in my life when I didn't make up stories. When I learned how to write, I started putting my stories down on paper.¬†When my cousin Clarice discovered I loved writing, she told me about her father. Uncle Herb had been a playwright but, raising a family during the Depression,... Continue Reading →

Okay, it’s time to wake up

I've sat down several times to write today's post and each time I find my fingers poised above the keyboard and I know what I want to write. Then it disappears and I find myself once again wondering at a comment I saw in a private group this morning. It was one of those messages... Continue Reading →

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