Once upon a time I dreamed of being a writer who makes a living from writing. I was a young, twenty something, and wrote on everything from paper towels, receipts, margins, mail, envelopes and pretty much anything with a surface to write on. Then something happened...I stopped.  I stopped and none of the reasons why seem good enough. So!  Here I am.  Trying to love the pen, pencil, crayon, marker, paper, words, passion, etc. that I once loved unconditionally.  I'm dusting off the stories that used to excite and exhaust me hoping that the genres that some friends and family say are the only ones that sale nowadays are indeed not. Yes, it is true that sex, violence, scandal, and darkness do sale but somewhere there remains a shelf for everyday living folk.  That place is where my heart lives and what I know.  Plain old living is what is underneath the dusty, musty stacks of stories and manuscripts I've unpacked months ago. I will share some of it here with anyone who likes everyday living folk as much as I.