In the face of adversity, you have a choice: be a victim or become a warrior.
I’ve always been a bit weird. Okay, a lot weird. One of my sisters put it tactfully when she declared me a 'magnet for free spirits.'
She’s right. But, I swear I didn’t go out of my way to meet that old lady in San Francisco who introduced herself as the Queen of England. It’s not like I actually believed her when she jovially welcomed me into the Royal Family, telling me she knew by the set of my eyes that I was of royal lineage. I just filed that chance encounter in my memory banks under ‘unforgettable characters’ with a cross reference to ‘story material.’
Is it really a big deal that as a kid I projected the personalities of my imaginary friends onto my grandmother's abundant collection of buttons, spending hours imagining them acting out the stories I had in my head? And, seriously, doesn’t everybody know magical kingdoms exist under the graceful branches of weeping willow trees?
Can I help it if my imagination is a tad overactive? I was just born that way. When a person is hardwired to view events in headline format and has dreams that begin, ‘once upon a time,’ she has to do something with that stuff. Despite my propensity for flights of fancy, I actually do have a secure grasp on reality. I can tell the difference between fact and fiction. It’s just that fiction is usually more fun.
When a brain bleed temporarily altered my ability to read and write, I felt like I had lost my essence. Thank God and perseverance that change wasn’t permanent. That near-death experience changed my views on a lot of things; perhaps most notably it enhanced my beliefs about the afterlife. As a result, much of my writing now focuses on how thin the barrier is between the living and the dead.
So, is it really that weird that I like to wander around cemeteries, attaching stories to the names on the headstones? There are lots of souls drifting around the ether and they all have tales to tell.
I like to write ghost stories. I hope you enjoy reading them.
She’s right. But, I swear I didn’t go out of my way to meet that old lady in San Francisco who introduced herself as the Queen of England. It’s not like I actually believed her when she jovially welcomed me into the Royal Family, telling me she knew by the set of my eyes that I was of royal lineage. I just filed that chance encounter in my memory banks under ‘unforgettable characters’ with a cross reference to ‘story material.’
Is it really a big deal that as a kid I projected the personalities of my imaginary friends onto my grandmother's abundant collection of buttons, spending hours imagining them acting out the stories I had in my head? And, seriously, doesn’t everybody know magical kingdoms exist under the graceful branches of weeping willow trees?
Can I help it if my imagination is a tad overactive? I was just born that way. When a person is hardwired to view events in headline format and has dreams that begin, ‘once upon a time,’ she has to do something with that stuff. Despite my propensity for flights of fancy, I actually do have a secure grasp on reality. I can tell the difference between fact and fiction. It’s just that fiction is usually more fun.
When a brain bleed temporarily altered my ability to read and write, I felt like I had lost my essence. Thank God and perseverance that change wasn’t permanent. That near-death experience changed my views on a lot of things; perhaps most notably it enhanced my beliefs about the afterlife. As a result, much of my writing now focuses on how thin the barrier is between the living and the dead.
So, is it really that weird that I like to wander around cemeteries, attaching stories to the names on the headstones? There are lots of souls drifting around the ether and they all have tales to tell.
I like to write ghost stories. I hope you enjoy reading them.