Nothing bad ever happens in Fresno, unless you are me.
I grew up on one of the quietest streets. With two of the kindest parents one could ever imagine. My earliest memory of life was the need to become a writer. Little did I know that my greatest dream would turn into the worst nightmare that nearly destroyed me, and all life as I (as well as you) know it. Thank God, or we would all be dead.
My parents died in a car accident when I was five and a half, it was right after I wrote a short story about Elmo driving a brand-new pink, nearly red, sports car that the Cookie Monster stole and subsequently drove into a tree.
Evelyn and Eli hit the semi head on at a hundred and twenty-seven miles per hour. The only problem. Dad never drove over ninety, even when my Mom was giving birth to me in the back seat.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
The Plotter
TerrorIn which a writer plots a book so devious and so horrific it is turned down by every publisher and every agent in the western hemisphere. When he sets off to self-publish he is fraught with bad luck and misfortune that turns him to Christianity. ...
