Being born with a love for stories and storytelling is both a gift and a curse. I talked early, hanging on every word, especially if the subject seemed intense, secretive, or perplexing.

I stayed in trouble through my childhood for repeating word for word a story I wasn’t necessarily supposed to have been privy to.

My superior language skills, and commanding demeanor ensured that the tales went to the worst possible person, like my first-grade teacher, Miss Davis, “My mama said she wouldn’t take her sick dog to Dr. Davis.”

My little speech didn’t endear either me or my mother to Miss Davis. I felt she was quite rude at her retort. “Well! You can just tell your mama my daddy is a fine doctor!”

Returning home with the whole story, I was surprised to find my report to Miss Davis hadn’t won me any points with Mother, either.

My…

My name is Alma White and I live in upstate New York, in the Adirondack Mountain range. It’s beautiful here, my neighborhood is bountifully populated by white-tailed deer. They are out early in the morning and late in the afternoon. I love watching a family of them move silently but clandestinely through the woods connected to my back yard.

Occasionally I go into New York City and take in an opera or go watch the Christmas tree lighting at the Rockefeller Center and have visited all the major landmarks such as Lady Liberty, the NY Metropolitan Museum.

When I’m not doing those things I’m at home reading, or writing.

I started writing these stories because it was becoming more and more difficult to find novels I wanted to read. I’m not very choosy but I didn’t like the idea of nearly every novel in the stores being a cookie cutter…