Lessons from My 11-Year-Old

I just sent out a newsletter to the folks subscribed there. In case you haven’t signed up yet, I thought you might be interested in seeing what I’m up to. So here’s just the start. You can click over to read.

My son is hilarious. He just walked up to me as I was typing away, and broke into song about the burrito cat (aka our cat Brave) and Hoppelpoppy, jumpy butt (aka our cat Hope). Excuse the slightly raucous language. He’s an eleven-year-old boy with an equivalent humor. But I mean seriously.

The knobby-kneed dude doesn’t even have to try. He is just naturally funny. And can I tell you a secret? I’m jealous.

I write historical suspense, kind of on the darkish side. There’s always hope there, but I wish I wrote funny, disarming books and short stories . . . if for no other purpose than to distract myself. But it’s not who I was made to be.

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