No, you may not believe that I – a writer, an author, a consummate reader – rarely (as in hardly ever) read the reviews of my books. How gauche. How extremely weird. Or, you may say, how cowardly.
But when I wrote Flashes of Life (my latest, now a little over a year old) it was nearest and dearest to my writing heart because it’s …. memoir. Fortunately for my readers, it’s flash memoir, which means you can sit outside on the front porch in your rocking chair, and within five sips of your iced tea (or Diet Coke, or lemonade, or beer if it’s almost sunset) you’ll have finished one of my stories in this flash(y) compilation of my life’s anecdotes. Continue reading