With both women I have a ‘history’ and for that the writer in me is very grateful. And with my health holding steady, my eyesight intact and my imagination running amok, I can still churn out stories in a thousand different forms. My experiences at those first inklings of love have helped me flavor twelve novels and thirteen plays thus far.
No one has to know where the real story slips away and the make-believe takes over. In the end, it’s all story-telling anyway.
Or is it?