How my kid got her war wound
Not all stories start on a rainy day, mine actually started on a bright and sunny afternoon. I was at work on my latest manuscript (Alleria) and had just decided to work out my notes that I had been making while sitting in the sun. My milk white winter skin was starting to get that hint of strawberry tint, so I had to run for cover. I was just forming a sentence in my head to jot down, when a soft knock on my door took me out of my thoughts. Immediately I rolled my eyes, because the knock sounded decidedly child-like. Either Elora was too lazy to walk around and come in through the back door, or some of her friends were here to pick her up (and she wasn’t in) Reluctantly I opened the door and saw three giggling blond boys standing in front of me. The front one told me that Elora was ‘back there’ (as he pointed at the playground) and that she was hurt. I didn’t panic. My kid is always ‘hurt’. She has a pain threshold that is so low, you would lose sight of it in low cut grass. ...