In the ivory tower bedroom of the Glencoe house where I grew up, I fantasized about being a writer. My hero was O. Henry, and like him, I wanted to write short stories. Not a Magnum Opus. Not the Great American Novel. Just stories.
It didn't happen.
Instead, I wrote books. Crime and suspense novels. I still do. But finally...finally...I was given the opportunity to write stories. Vignettes. And "think" pieces. A little bit of this. A little bit of that.
I love to write. I love to share what I write.
Welome to my world.