The knock on the door surprised me. The January night in Iowa was cold, cold, cold. I had already slipped out of my clothes for the night and sat in my recliner, writing on my laptop; it was a short story about my childhood. Since my divorce three years earlier, I spent a lot of my ‘alone’ time writing; mostly on the subject I know more about than anything else… me. I’ve written hundreds of stories about my old hometown and my family. My nine siblings provided tons of memories that I want to, someday, share with my children and grandchildren...
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