I like to write picture books, first readers, short stories, mid-grade/YA  books/novels, and trying out suspense fiction.  I write poetry also.

What is life, but a mere smudge.  We all mess up, we all try to do better.  But guess what, we keep messing up.  If it's not one thing, it's another.  Take love, we all want it.  We all look for it.  We all think we have it, many times.  Do we?  Do we really have love, or is it simply a smudge?  Does true love really exist?  Most people don't last past twenty years anyway.  It's like your career.  Once you reach your retirement, you quit and get another until your too old to care.  Maybe there's truth to this.  Maybe it's just coming from someone who has not found true love, only smudges.  Either way, it gives you something to ponder.