My Grandma C always encouraged me to write. In a deep corner of my heart I've tucked away the dream to write a book.
I've decided my work should be historical fiction, because life itself dreams up the greatest romances and tragedies. Fiction in case I don't have my facts exactly straight.
Events this week only proved that I cannot, in my wildest imagination, dream up horrors equal to the national and international news. I cannot foresee the coldness of hearts even among my loved ones, the accidents that grabs a dad from a fishing boat as his son starts college, or the bizarre words of complete strangers like my customers.
While we were with neighbors at the community's weekly outdoor movie night, eating popcorn and banana splits, a gunman opened fire inside a movie theater in Colorado. A "Joker" copy cat?
It can't ever again be said, "that only happens in the movies...or in books...or on TV"
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