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![]() ![]() I walked over and asked her if her daughter would like me to tell her a story. I remember the little girl’s mother sitting out on front porch, looking exhausted one morning. When I was five years old there was a toddler that lived across the street that cried all the time. There is something brutal and wonderful about not having a clue who you are. ![]() What could be better? Why I write for people that are younger than I am: I like teenagers. The mom said she would pay me with cookies if I came back the next day. I’m sure this young mom thought I was a strange but her daughter seemed to like my story enough to listen instead of cry. ![]() Random Stuff about Me Why I Became a Writer: I like cookies. ![]()
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