I love writing. I’ve loved writing since I was a kid and I realized I had all of these stories sitting in my head. Stories I would create and tweak while pressed up against a cow on a December morning, washing poop off her udder and thinking I would much rather be home writing. I still have a letter my sixth-grade self wrote to my highschool graduate self that described how I was going to be a writer one day. Of course, that letter also said I was going to live in a huge old house with a lot of cats and never get married.

The truth is, one of the hardest things for me to do is actually sit down and write. Part of this is because I don’t have the focus for creating that I used to. Your brain has lots of time to roam when cleaning cow udders and horse stalls, but not so much time when working a full time job, being a full time mother, a full time wife, and a full time chickener. All of those full time positions also leave me little time to sit down and write things.

But I have so many bodies that need to be found. So many bodies that need to be hidden. And lots and lots of people to kill in rather horrible ways. So my goal is to take time to write. To get these stories down and put them here. To make my characters come alive (or dead)! If nothing else, the attempt sure beats cleaning cow udders.

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