I was a quiet child.
I was the one in the corner at school dances, watching everyone else.
While friends went out and partied, I took walks in the woods.
I avoided crowds. I still do!
I would rather listen than talk. That’s always been the case.
I am an observer and not an active participant in group activities.
I speak when spoken to, but do not offer information unless asked for it.
This is who I am.
I didn’t keep journals as a child. I rarely wrote, preferring to play baseball, or football, or go fishing, but I suspect my muse was working overtime during those childhood years, for now I have a treasure chest of ideas and experiences to write about, all of those memories stored up over the years.
I am a writer!
I listened to stories told by my grandparents, stories about the Great Depression. I heard every word as they told me about life on their Iowa corn farm, about losing that farm, and about their journey out west to a better life. I watched as my mother and father worked hard, providing for me and my sister, never complaining, always giving love in an abundant supply.
I grew up in the 50s and 60s, transitioning from idyllic Leave It To Beaver to the tumultuous protests, my country suffering growing pains, the stalwart words “liberty and justice for all” under fire, all of us experiencing growing pains, and all the better for it when it passed.
Sixty-eight years have molded my writings, and those writings will continue as long as I am able, for I am a writer and proud of it!
“Helping writers to spread their wings and fly.”