sleep away at Camp Wiŋtke

Thanks

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I really appreciate all the love my readers have shown me in the form of chapter likes, inline comments, private messages, reading list adds, recommendations, etc. It means more to me than you know and drives me to keep creating. Some of you may not know that your comments on different story parts have been the catalyst that drove a revision to this story, making it more detailed, easier to understand, and more enjoyable for the next reader.

What I'm saying is, my stories wouldn't be as good as they are of it wasn't for the comments and conversations from readers that came before you. I really do read every comment, every message, even if I don't respond right away, if at all. From the bottom of my heart, thank you to all of you.

I could never ask any more of my awesome readers and fans, except maybe, if you really, truly love one of my stories, would you maybe consider recommending it on your social media?

If you are done giving me your comments, suggestions, and asking questions, and are now looking for your next story to read, might I suggest one written from the point of view of a father trying to raise a child alone. It's an emotional tale that takes place in one single short scene with tons of flashbacks that fill the reader in on how we got to that point.

It called LOSING RENE, and the following is an excerpt from one of the flashbacks:

"Who are the kids in your drawing," I asked my son.
He sat the crayon down and picked up another without looking up.

"They're mine from before."

I raised my eyebrows. "From before when?"

"From before I was born."

I pulled out a chair and set down beside him as he continued to draw.

"Rene, before you were born you were just a twinkle in the eyes of your mother and me."

"I had a family back in a time before I was born this time."

He began to color again, trading one color for another. I smiled and inwardly congratulated my late-wife Renee for having passed on to our son such an imagination.

I fought the urge to pepper Rene with questions, but once I had really thought about what he said, many of my assumptions about him up to that point were beginning to make some sense.

That evening, long after Rene had gone to bed I fired up my laptop and began to research Past Life Experiences. I found that Rene's story was not all that uncommon, and there were countless thousands of children across the globe had insisting that they'd had a past life.

Only, this was my son . . .