I love writing. I hope that love comes through, and if it doesn't, I apologize.

Someone was looking at one of my books the other day so I asked what type of books they liked to read. She immediately shook her head. "I hate to read."

And as she was about to put the book back, I pounced. "I write for people just like you."

I watch as she hesitates and looks back at the cover.

"Go ahead, read the first chapter. If it doesn't grab you, that's okay. You won't hurt my feelings."

She carries the copy of "Coffee With Iris" over to the seating area. I go back and resume my duties in the pharmacy. We get busy and when I go to check on her, she is gone.

Fast forward to today, the woman came back in. She looked like she had lost a bet. "You got me. You made me laugh and then you made me cry."

"So, you read the whole thing."

"I read every single word." She finally smiled and lifted up a copy of "Missing the Other Alex" and slid it to me. "Sign it."

"Sure. This is a little different. Not as many comedic parts. More of a family drama."

"Is it written for people who hate to read?"

"Specifically."

She paid for the book and as she was about to walk away, she held up her autographed copy then glanced at the stack of Miranda Chronicles. "If this is as good as the first one I read, I'll be back for that one."

She was the perfect reader. She was my target audience.

I write stories, I tell tales. I normally don't think of myself as a writer. I am a storyteller. And, if I can get someone who hates to read, to finish one of my stories, that is awesome.

But, when they come back for another story, it's the best ending to this story.