Monday, March 11, 2013


I've been writing stories since I was a child, creating alternate worlds for myself, with a different bedroom, a life in which I had a twin sister instead of a mean brother, and a dog.

I wrote on a green typewriter older than my mother, and the more I typed, the prouder I became of my clickety-clacking speed and rhythm. I typed pen pal letters. I typed homework assignments. Then Dad got a computer and I typed *sigh* love letters.

Oh, they were good, too. Dot matrix and full of daily activities and devotion. His were handwritten. Maybe I missed out.

Now, all these years later, I am typing four big projects on two computers and an iphone. I never leave home without a flash drive.  I promise myself not to miss a thing. After all, I have a type.

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