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I admit. . I  started writing for so . . .so many wrong reasons . . . Writers look cool wordsmithing in a cafe. People listen to you if they know you’re a writer. . .a writer’s wife doesn’t finish his sentences for him.  Interesting people invite you to dinner.
None of these things happened. What did happen was, out of necessity, I cleaned up and organized my brain. I learned to outline my thoughts into breakfast beginnings, meat, meat by-product lunches, and chocolate pudding endings. Along the way I annoyed and alienated more friends that I started with as I morphed into an intense know-it-all. Then . . .one day I got a magic phone call. It was Lorian Hemingway telling me I’d just won The Grand Prize in the Lorian Hemingawy Shrort Story Competition. The following year, Good Lord,  I won it again! I got mentioned on NPR’s Morning edition. It’s been all down hill  since.

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