there must be pie

I am a conglomeration of a lot of experiences, people and places. Fifteen minutes before writing this, I was interacting with another writer here on Vocal about a small town in central Michigan to which we were both connected, and reminiscing about a restaurant that closed around 1976.

The story that connected us is...

Which brings out the next tidbit... I love cars. I mean really LOVE cars. I always have. When I was a toddler, my imaginary friend was a dump truck.

Don't worry, I think it's kind of weird, too.

But, back to history... I was raised up through fifth grade in southern Michigan. After that, up until college, I was in Virginia. Then, I went to Minnesota, and eventually settled in Georgia. But, the whole time, I also maintained a relationship with the northern lower peninsula of Michigan. Look around your index fingernail on your left hand... about there.

I have visited 44 states and about a dozen countries. Pacific Northwest, I'm looking at you... I'm coming for you. And Alaska and Hawaii...

Geography out of the way, I have NO idea how I ended up writing. Really. I mean, I remember the steps, but the base reasons are too fuzzy, like when the Magic 8-ball is stuck between responses.

In school, I HATED writing. Wasn't a big fan of reading, either. I did it, and even produced a few favorites, but I still wasn't much of a recreational reader.

Then I got done with school. And started reading for fun. More and more. I had a few favorite authors, but then, later, I branched out. Now, most of my recreational reading is VERY varied. I read when I can get a good deal on for my Kindle.

Which is how I got to writing.

If one is constantly cruising the deal-bin of Kindle, there are some diamonds, but a LOT of rough. And while reading the rough, I had a thought.

Lane, you can do better than this...

So, I set out to do just that. I put my money where my mouth was, and wrote a book.

That led to a second, and then a third. Now I'm up to eight, with several others in the pipeline. I can't help it. It's kind of fun.

Along the way, I took a shot at a contest here on Vocal. I didn't win... but I kept taking shots. It started with Lucinda's Choice. Writing a complete story in 2000 words was hard. I loved it. It was so different than writing a story in 100,000 words.

Anyway... when I sit down to write, I often have no idea where it will go. Even when I have the map out and my mapping app telling me where to turn, my characters refuse to follow directions.

I mostly write fiction. There are a few essays on whatever... but even most of my non-fiction writing is story-based. Telling a story is why I write. I love telling a story in person, and seeing how it flies. And writing novels and short stories frees me even more.

If I fished... the stories would be epic. But, alas, I don't fish.

Check out the links I dropped above, or try out my profile or my blog. If you like it, I'd love for you to read more.

Thank you.

If you made it all the way here, you must be wondering about the cover image. There IS a reason.

I was a Cubmaster... the head kid, I mean parent, in charge of a Cub Scout pack. As such, I got to take pies in the face as a reward for the boys. I would suit up once a year, and the kids that had earned the privilege, would get to "pie me.'

To begin with, they were cream pies... whipped cream and a tin. But, before you choose to be pied, you should know that whip cream WILL go up your nose. Far up your nose... to a place where the act of blowing it out requires help. And, since I still don't know what that help looks like, some stays. After about an hour, it doesn't smell good anymore. A hot shower does NOT remove whipped cream smell from the inside of your nose.

It gets to be your own private little joy for a couple of days.

But it is better than letting them throw water balloons at you. Seriously. Take the pie to the face.