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For the three of you out there who read my Editors notes; stand by for a confession. I can’t spell. This simple fact astonishes people when I announce it at reading engagements. Brain damage at an early age caused memory damage. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. As a matter of fact, I discuss it in my third book, The Lost Journal of my Second Trips to Purgatory. Which was also read by three people.

Not only am I, a bad speller, but I am pure rubbish at punctuation. My husband calls me the Comma Queen. I will go along not using any commas, suddenly realize my lack, and throw sixteen of them into the next sentence to catch up. But you see I am aware of theses short comings and I am judicious about copy editing by an innocent third party. Usually my husband or the college educated daughter. I stress college educated as it cost me so much money, to get a back up copy-editor.

I’ve always been extremely embarrassed by this lack of ability especially, given my chosen career, writing. But I no longer hang my head, draped in shame, as the highest home in the land, our beloved White House has embraced the linguistic ability of a third grader. Suddenly my failings are the celebrated topic of hundreds of Facebook memes. Finally, at the advanced age of sixty-two, I’ve arrived. I’m part of the in-crowd.

Wow, don’t we have something to be proud of! At least I seem to. So, to all my beloved English Teachers out there, who don’t read this anyway, I stand unrepentant in all my ignorant glory. (BTW hubby was at work and couldn’t edit this so it’s going up raw as the kids say). (Well, I did make the little red words go away.)
Loving this new era!
Michelle Hartman