The foothills of North Carolina are saturated with tales of mystery and history, and I love to listen to the neighbors with extraordinary stories to share. Like the woman who has a wolf-dog sanctuary, or the park ranger who has spent her young life crawling in and out of caves to study bats, or the astronomer over the next hill who worked on the Hubble Space Telescope. I have to mention our pastor makes incredible molasses, just like his grandpappy did a hundred years ago on the family farm. The same farm that grows six different kinds of sweet potatoes: Tennessee Red, Ruby, O’Henry, Covington, Yellow, and my favorite, Garnet. Life is a series of choices.
Sometimes I have to respond to events that smack me in the face, but most of the time my choices involve new experiences for background and plot ideas. Spectators like myself are quiet. I know I am a boring guest at a neighborhood gathering. I have an agenda to lurk and listen for new topics of intrigue, for the fascinating words I can thread together. I love stories. I am a wordsmith. You can find my stories in the following anthologies: