Brenda Bengtson

I grew up in a small town in West Virginia. My father wrote in a notebook at the kitchen table almost daily—stories for children. I admired him for his tenacity to get the story completed. He was proud of his accomplished work even when a publisher rejected it. He continued to write stories for his own enjoyment. That’s how I feel when I write.

I’m curious when it comes to paranormal events. They fascinate me—spirits, odd sounds, strange things happening all around. I want to find out—is it real or just someone’s wild imagination?

My English classes in junior high and high school gave me the opportunity to write a few paragraphs on a topic chosen for class—even a haiku. The same occurred in nursing school writing a care-plan summary on a patient in Med-Surg class. Each of these instructors took my paper and shared it with other students as an example. It was a proud moment in my life.

My husband and I typically go out to dinner wherever there is pizza—mainly for me, not him.