I grew up in a haunted house in the sleepy wilds of Ballard in Washington, where front lawns seemed grander, roads wider, my dad’s hands larger, and everyone was a friend, or at least a potential audience member. While our ghost never showed itself, it did make its presence known from time to time. Closed doors mysteriously opening, lights blinking on and off, and the very real feeling that you were never alone. A less creative person might chalk it up to older house issues and an off-the-charts imagination… Oh - my short story, Stone God's Wife won a Chanticleer Book Awards for BEST SUMMER READS! It's nice to be recognized, don't you think?