I grew up surrounded by people who’ve seen ghosts and love to tell tales of their sightings.  Some are old family stories — like the tale of the bald, faceless Buddhist nun who walked through the mirrored bathroom wall of my mother’s childhood home in Macao. Some are new-ish — like the time my brother in law, reading in his loft apartment one sunny afternoon, saw a terrified-looking man edge his way along the back wall of his living room and then disappear through the wall.  Or the time a girl from my high school took her own life and was seen  at her own funeral.

I was there, and I saw nothing.

I’m not sure if ghosts are real — but if they are, I suspect I don’t have the capacity to see them., which may be a blessing. But I do wonder about them — and when I wonder about things, I write about them.

So far, this has earned me hours of entertainment, publication in several small journals, and affiliate membership in the Horror Writers Association.

I love a good ghost story — so  if you love reading or writing them. I’d love to hear from you. Don’t worry, I’m not that scary.


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