My Name was Supposed to be Elizabeth Ann

— Stories from the Roads (Not) Taken

Death terrifies me, yet I read cemeteries like books. Each graveyard is like a library. Each stone, a chapter in its collection. My imagination resurrects their dead, gives them flesh and features. A voice. I am no vampire, yet their stories nourish my soul. My fascination began in 1976, with the cemetery around the corner …

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