I write short stories for fun, and because it allows me to tell myself that all the mind wandering and day dreaming that has been going on for my entire life, often to the detriment of other things (homework, sleep, organizing the filing cabinet, etc), has actually been ‘productive’. No time wasting or procrastination going on here, folks.

There is a handful of completed short stories on my hard drive, and another handful in progress (a state some have been in for a very long time). How many of these stories will ever been seen by anyone other than me? Good question. I like to think, one day, I’ll manage to complete something novel length that I’m happy enough with to let other people read (besides my husband and my mother). We’ll see.

While all writers harbour the secret hope they will one day have success rivaling that of Stephen King, most of use have the humility to recognize the unlikelihood of that outcome. If we’re lucky, however, we do occasionally get the validation of someone we don’t know personally reading one of our stories and liking it enough to publish it. And (cue drum roll), I have recently been so fortunate: