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Janice Woodard

Janice Woodard

I write mostly for the amusement and entertainment of my friends and family, using the imagination my mother helped me cultivate when I was a child.

It all started when, as a small child traveling with my parents, I threw a paper bag of orange peels out the car window.

Poor orange peels! They’re out there ALL ALONE now! The middle of nowhere!

At least that’s what she told me. From then on, for one thing I never threw anything out of the car window again, and looked upon inanimate objects as somehow having feelings!

And it went on from there.

My husband just shakes his head.

Thanks, Mom!

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