Back in the days when I didn’t know I was a writer, I could still tell stories and folks would laugh.  I’d see the funny in normal events, and when

It was odd, the way it happened.  There I was, typing along, when the keyboard went nuts, printing a string of ‘s’s.  What in the world? I backspaced, pressed the

He had, I’d noted, been asking questions the day of and the day before.  “What is disobedience?” was one, and the door had opened yet again for Mother to explain