My father was a man who would pull over and read nearly any historical marker he came across.
All writers are ‘opportunists,’ maybe even ‘shameless opportunists.’
Sell me on your reality first before you sell me on your fantasy.
Cross genre seems to be where my brain wants to go.
I am a teller of tales. Perhaps that is not salvation, but for me it is enough.
Humor not only improves perspective, defuses tension, reduces anxiety, and displaces anger, but it also improves stomach muscle tone.
I do seek individuality and resent being compared to another writer, regardless if it’s meant as a compliment.
Two Malayan Regulars! This had the makings of a very good story.
Time, the muscle that ripples from the shoulder of God, was flexing once more, pulling them away from this place.
The tall one is so handsome, she thought. My father will be so proud. I hope he lets him live. For a little while, at least.
“My dear, I don’t think Catholic girls are meant to do all the things you intend to teach her. I’ve heard what goes on in your … temple.”
Once I had the main character fleshed out, his journey to the end of the story seemed to flow naturally to its bittersweet conclusion.









