In the mystical inlets of my being there lives a little nymph I named Violette. She is the best in me. She’s an old-time storyteller, one who desires to change the world for the better through the weavings of her mind. Her desire to come into her own was conceived when I read Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach years ago. First, she wanted to learn to fly. In so doing, she longed to teach others to do the same, like Jonathan did.
As she ventured out of the hamlet she called home, her innocence was battered again and again by events in her life. Some of the difficulties she encountered, she triggered herself, like we all do, and some were thrust upon her. She struggled through it all, and when she did, she found impetus to write. Everything is fodder for the writer. As she came into being and sprouted her own wings, she and I became one.
Sometimes one event alters the rest of one’s life. So it was for me and my inner Violette. My brother literally triggered the change. He shot and killed his neighbors on a damp, cold night. As I helped my loving parents through this horrific tragedy, I came to know that I must write the story of what it was like from the killer’s family’s point of view. With my first book on the subject I taught myself … Continue reading