It all started in the third grade when Mrs. Nichols told us to write a story. My story, The Day The Martians Came To Earth, was about, well, you know, Martians who came to earth. They came in their tiny ships and yellow space suits to knock over Fort Knox because apparently Martians eat gold and they had run out. Mrs. Nichols said my story was superior. Yep, that was the word she used and asked me to share it with the whole school. So I went classroom to classroom and read my little story. In those days I had a problem with sweaty palms so by the time I made it back to my classroom the pages were soaked, the writing runny and pretty much illegible. Yet, it was the day I knew I wanted to be a writer. Everything else about school—math, geography, science became superfluous to my goal. I still cringe at the thought of fractions and couldn’t point to Yugoslavia on a globe if you paid me, but I am a writer, an author. Wow.
There's more to the story so if you want to keep reading, please click on over to CBD and read the rest (if the story isn't there, please check back. It's coming) and while you are at it you can always order Agnes or any of the other fine novels from Abingdon Press. Thanks, and have some pie.