Born to be a storyteller

That must be true.

My dreams and my waking moments of heart whisper this to me.

Too many memories for words to hold of times back then taking breaks with Daisy sitting on overturned cherry pail or apple crate just being...and talking. Listening to her stories then telling one of my own or making it up as I went along, no matter. For time and sharing, a place to just be; she being Daisy and to discover the one I called, me.

Confession: the only thing I ever “stole” was our Little Golden Book children’s storybooks.
Many books once my sister’s, from my eyes I just took ownership of yet another pass-me-down item. As my early printing would reveal, I wrote my name in all of them.

Early book signings?

An inner sense of an author waiting to be born?

A desire to be able to read? Grew to become, a heart waiting to be read.