I have been over the years a reporter, an editor, and a newspaper publisher. I found that the bland work of story composition in the industry became more of a chore than a love, so I have written these simply for the love of writing. Some have been pubished, some have not. I have found though that I love them all.
Although my pen has not touched paper for a few years, the stories are there and waiting to be written once again. I have found looking back on what is here and what is not here, for I have not shard them all, that what I do write, I write for myself, and while they are not perhaps the polished prose of the great writers in literature they do in their own way bring me peace and allow me to look back a bit and reflect.
What is here to be shared, has no one meaning, no central theme, and nothing that is right or wrong in interpretation of them. One thing I intensly dislike is the thought that another takes it upon themself to describe "my" meaning of a story, when in fact what they describe is their own interpretation of my story, and for them it is correct, because everything written brings a differant meaning to each of us, a perspective that is based on our own lives, and that is as it should be. The statement should not be, "The author meant this when he wrote that", but rather, "I carried away this impression when I read this authors work."