A Creepy Little Bed Time Story.

Little guy wanted to go to bed early, 7:30 pm instead of 8:30. Weeee! So I'm working on the edit tonight.

My mind has been spinning for a while, with this book all over it. It's been hard to focus enough to give you any content worth reading. I'm sorry about that. But I was thinking about what makes people who they are, a question I go back to again and again. I thought of my own upbringing, and what made me want to be a storyteller before I ever knew what a storyteller was.

Many things, most of which I won't get into here because it's dangerous terrain for several reasons, but also because I don't want to ever sound like I'm whining about my childhood. Many experiences occur in a person's life to help form them. A myriad of factors which shape us, and design the core of our personality. A psychological blueprint.

I was a storyteller before this. As a child I loved hearing stories and making up stories. I haven't changed. There were elements of my life that made stories comforting to me. Escape is probably the biggest reason.

But writing has also been a coping mechanism for me. Coping with things that happened or didn't happen or came close to happening. One of the things that had a huge effect on me almost happened when I was seven years old, on a bright, sunny August afternoon.

I was almost abducted by a man in a car that day. In a lane way behind the my aunt's house. Thank Christ I was an extremely cautious girl. I was on a bike and, though he had the door open to try and grab me, I rode around it, and I can still see him leaning over the seat, arm outstretched.

This memory leaves me feeling jittery. I don't like to talk about it and I don't talk about it with people in my daily life. I know that in the telling of it I'd stammer, swallow back panic, and generally choke on my words.

I don't know if he'd been watching me or not. Maybe. He wasn't someone I remembered every seeing before, and he looked completely normal, which was even more disconcerting. But I never saw him again.

Believe me when I tell you that I looked for him and his car for years afterward, and I stayed nervous of cars coming up behind me while I was walking or riding my bike for years. I can hear a car coming up from a long way away if I'm out. But I didn't hear him come up behind me that day. I was too much in my own head. I only saw the car when it had already pulled up close beside me, and he'd tried to block my path right away.

It happened so fast it was surreal.

I know that if he'd gotten me into that car, I never would've made it back out. I know this as sure as I know the sun will rise and set tomorrow.

So, I hope I've made up for my silence with this creepy little story. It's a true one, and one I keep wrapped up in the darker corners of my memory.

I have others, but I don't know if I'll share them here or not. We'll see ;)

Now, back to the edit.