Suz Korb

I've always loved writing. All my life, since the tender young age of six when I started keeping a diary. What I learned from that over the years is; keeping a diary means someone will eventually read it and/or read it out to the entire class in 6th grade when you forgot your private diary in your desk and you stayed away from school for a week with the chicken pox. Only to return, majorly embarrassed. Or that time when I left my diary at junior high school and Mandy Busybody (something or other) decided to tell everyone that I put a little heart next to a boy's name, and therefore I must have a MASSIVE crush on him. I did have a crush on him, but I didn't want him to know that. Anyhoo, I digress from the topic of this blog post. I wrote many other things over the years. My fiction was fan scripts for TV shows I like, and short stories of my own.  Then in 2009 I decided to write a whole novel. I didn't know if I could do it. I struggled with putting together sentenc

I walked into my back yard about three months after having moved into my new house. My daughter was there. She rushed to me with a look of gossip on her face. Sure enough, she had something to say. "I heard the neighbour kids talking about you, Mom!" Slightly curious, I wondered what it was they said about me. "Oh did they now." "Yeah!" My daughter replied. "They saw you walking up and they said  oh look it's the blacky!" "They called me a blacky?" I felt incredulous inwardly, but a smirk crept into the corner of my mouth. "Yep!" Daughter continued to question. "Does that mean what I think it means, Mom?" "If you think it means their parents are racist, then you're correct." "And their parents before them." I nodded my head in agreement at my twelve year old daughter's cleverness. She knows what's up in the ways of the world. And sadly so.