I’m one of those people who skippadeedoo’s her way through life. You must know someone like me. I have twenty writing projects in varying states of “doneness.” My life is definitely a work in progress.

I think maybe I need a schedule. Or—hey!—I could get a clone! That’s easier than making a schedule and sticking to it.

So off I go to find out who’s cloning these days….

I’ll say this straight-out: I’m not a teenager. But I was. For a long time. I’m positive it lasted for at least ten years. Maybe fifteen.

Now I’ve got teenagers of my own, and I’m living it all over again. Despite our differences, we have one thing in common: we love to be scared. Not grossed out, just scared, while we’re comfortably wrapped up in a blanket or sprawled in the sun (depending on the season, LOL!).

You know those little hairs on the back of your neck? The ones that the stylist always forgets to cut evenly? Yes, those. They know stuff. They know when danger is near. They move—just a bit. Enough to warn you to beware.

That’s what I write. Stories to make those little hairs nervous.

Hey, what else would a good mom do?