Listening to motherless Child by Sweet Honey In the Rock.

Thinking of writing a post for Mother’s Day from a photo of my mother transported to Egypt.

Muffin what I would give to stop the onslaught of story thoughts that come into my head.

I’ve been hearing it this heavy gift from my mother. Growing up, I watched her spend endless hours on her typewriter in hopes of one day submitting an entry into Ellery magazine. Avail to fail.

I don’t know what it’s like to be surrounded by stories. In some, I think I’m part of her story and then other way I think I’m part of a sequel that she couldn’t finish.

And I know it’s something you inherit because I can see it in my daughter. She definitely has the gift. I hope she exercises it appropriately.