The Write to Expire

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The first day of the writer’s conference, my daughters and I crowded onto the elevator with several other conferees making their way to the morning keynote session. Fifteen-year-old Holly and 17-year-old Leilani were the only teen attendees that year. “I just love to see expiring new writers,” spoke up an elderly lady. She nodded and smiled at my daughters. Of course, she meant to say aspiring. Not expiring. I think. Quick-witted Holly didn’t miss a beat. “You must mean my mom.” During the process of writing 29 of my own books and many titles for clients in addition to countless…

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The Conductor Was Sore Afraid

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Our annual church Christmas pageant gave me the impression the humble barn where Jesus was born was a quiet setting. The Nativity scene was the crowning moment of each extravaganza. Dressed in bed sheets and their fathers’ bathrobes, the children sang Silent Night. Then I moved to the country, got a barn, and had my own birth in the stable. Drought forced a farmer to sell a soft-eyed, pregnant mare.
 “She’s like Mary,” my teens implored. “She needs a place to have her baby.” So this innkeeper found room in our stable. A baby monitor let us hear what happened…

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