The Right Address
When Annie hears her foster parents talking about sending her little brother to another foster home, she knows that she can't let that happen. So in the middle of a dark, snowy night, they run away to another town. How will they survive? What will they eat? Where will they sleep? And who is the man who is watching them. Will they find THE RIGHT ADDRESS?
The Right Choice
Christopher is the youngest and best basketball player on the Northland High team.Basketball is his life. When his world turns upside down, will he ever play again?
Meanwhile, Annie and her little brother Willie are finally happy and secure, until a long-lost relative threatens to take them away from their adoptive mother.
Will friends and family help them make the right choices?
Pikes Peak Writers
Rocky Mountain Writers
Women on Writing
Children's Book Insider
Selection of Short Stories
Lost in a Storm
Grace Olson tilted back on her heels to give her knees a rest. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and looked around at the barren land. “Mama, why do we have to work so hard?” she whined.
“You will appreciate it soon enough. When the plants start to grow, we will have good food to eat, just the way God intended. instead of spending money at the grocery store.”
Now that her dad was gone, Grace and her mother, Mary, had to be careful with their money. When they sold their house, they moved far away to the land that Mary had inherited.
Jimmy Gadomski was his name. His big brown eyes seemed more prominent because of his thin face and cropped haircut. But he was just one of them. There was Willard, Mitch, Jeff and Tina. All of them were students in my first class, my first year of teaching.
The school was an old country building in northern Ohio. It only housed kindergarten, first and second
grade. The huge oak tree in the front of the building added to its charm. In those days we had time to sit under
the tree and read a story each afternoon. Other schools were scattered in the area and we all shared one
principal. He came to our school every Tuesday.
SOME FOLKS ARE DOG LOVERS. Others are cat people. I have a soft spot for mice-all because of an unforget- table experience my grandfather had in his twenties. He worked the night shift in a Michigan Ford factory signing out heavy tools, stored on huge shelves, from the tool room. Each night, when things were quiet, Grandfather would sit in his chair and eat the supper Grandma had packed for him.
One night he saw a mouse peeking out of a hole in the wall across the room, about 10 feet away. He must be hungry, Grandfather thought, tossing over a small piece of bread.