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So the stories solidified in me because I saw and experienced some of the same things my mother did. And I knew I wanted to share these stories with others.
I took the stories and molded them into a book, but changed the characters. The mother in the book is not my grandmother. My grandmother was a kind, loving woman. We’ll just say the mother in the book is not so kind. I never met my grandfather, but I did not base the father on what little I know of my grandfather. Except perhaps his sense of humor. My mother said my grandfather would sometimes explode into laughter and never told them what he was laughing about. And the main character, Sarah Jane, is not my mother. Some say writers cast themselves as their main characters. Perhaps Sarah Jane is a little like me, but I think she is more of who I wish I had been growing up. Perhaps me, but a better me. Not that she doesn’t have flaws.
And I organized the stories into what I think is a coherent, entertaining, and touching book.
Thundersnow is the book. And it will hopefully be published—if not by a major publisher or a small publisher, self published by me. It is too much of the lives of others to never come into a life of its own.
And too much of me.
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Thanks for sitting a spell and chatting!