The Reason I am a Storyteller

Maybe it is the imagination. Or perhaps it is the breadth of experiences as a human being. But whatever it is, I became a storyteller. I am not with the program tonight, as my main influence as a writer has left the planet and passed on to where we ultimately move on to. My mother, a silly, often paranoid, very emotional and empathic lady, left the earthly plane this morning at 1 a.m. I am numb, more than devastated, and perhaps a bit too far into the merlot at the moment, but I wanted to pay her the respects due for what I consider my craft. Living with her gave me so much material, and I am thankful that she and my late father did not reign me in with constraints, groundings, restriction, and all that silly shit that parents do to teach their kids to behave. Freedom gave me the ultimate opportunity to explore the things that gave me the young adult stories I write about. Thank you, mama. I love you and I will miss you so, so very much.



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