Our third book, Memoirs of a Barnyard Chicken will be out during the beginning of the new year!
When I was in high school, by then a good and avid reader, I used my ability to tell stories to make up all kind of tales, passing them off as true events. The fact, that my friends loved to listen to them, encouraged me to continue. I became addicted to the attention. The line between the real event and the made-up one became so thin that with time it just disappeared completely. Some of you might call it lying but I wonder was it really? After all no one was hurt by it. Call me a liar if you wish, but I prefer to think of myself as a teller of tall tales, an entertainer.
What do you think?
Growing up being dyslexic was hard. I loved stories, but couldn’t read till second grade and even then just barely and very slowly. So I had to depend on stories being read to me or just dream them. Every Friday during the last period of the day our teacher would read to us. She read mainly from chapter books. My first grade teacher was very good at reading and acting out the tales. You could listen, head down on the desk and see the story come alive. Oh, she was good. It was agonizing to have to wait a whole week for the next chapter and then another week for the continuation. But I was impatient and blessed with loads of imagination. I would come home and snuggle with my pillow in the corner of the room and dream up the next chapter. That is I think, how later in life, I developed my ability to tell stories.