Short fiction: I thought getting murdered was bad. This was worse. Ninety years after Elaine stabbed me, they paraded into my house… Featured image by Enrique Meseguer, CC0 via Pixabay.
A few days before I returned to Canada after a 9-month trip through Albania, Greece, Nepal, India, Georgia, and England, I had a panic attack.
What if I’d never make a living as a writer? I’d have to go back to waitressing, and I’d probably end up serving all the people who hated me in high school. They’d snicker and complain about the food.