I love to read and write stories. Ideas haunt my dreams and my waking hours. Yes, I'm the stranger that suddenly pulls out a notebook or a tablet and starts jotting down notes in the middle of a busy restaurant, store, or while sitting in my car at a stop light.

I see inspiration in everything such as the falling of a leaf, a child's laughter, etc. I write because I can remember and to keep those memories alive. I remember my mother's voice calling to me to come in for lunch on a hot summer day. I remember the smell of fresh mowed grass in the early morning. I remember how cool the lawn felt with dew drops glistening from each green blade.

I remember the terror I felt when the skies darkened, and the singing of the birds stopped just before the torrential downpour and the clap of thunder or lightning stuck.

I write for pleasure. I write because I must.

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