My very first book, The Dog With No Ears, was written when I was five.

I folded printing paper in half and sewed or stapled the pages in so it could flip like a “real” book and it was also illustrated by me.

Now, clearly, a five year old can only do so much so I’m sure I had help but that didn’t deter me from being proud of my book! I remember I excitedly presented it to my dad at one of our visits (in true GenXer fashion, my parents divorced when I was very young), and I also remember how happy he was with his gift.

I don’t  know what happened to that book but it was made with love, determination, and hope. The best kind of recipe for writing there is.

I have always written something, somewhere, everywhere, and anywhere. 

 Recently, I was repacking boxes full of mementos and I came across journals upon journals, most half written and written in different stages of my life. Later, I would transport my journalling to writing online where I chronicled my life for over two decades. I’ve now moved again to a newsletter. I’m closing in on my 200th issue.

Now, I keep up my newsletter and also write reviews, poetry, prose, short stories, and other interesting things.

Do I think I’m a good writer?

When a piece gets accepted for publication, then yes. Most of the time? No.

You be the judge.

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