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A Little Thing Called Love

I had to scrape the ice off of my own windshield yesterday.  I haven’t had to do that in years.  Not because I am not capable, but because I am married to a man who always does it for me.  When I say always, I mean always.  I have a garage now so it isn’t as much of an issue, but in the past, if my husband was in a mile radius of me, he took care of it.  At times he even got up to scrape my window, even if I left the house before him (even after an all night shift).  Not only did he take care of me, but my mother and sisters windows were also always scraped if they were in his presence.  He’s a good guy like that.

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As I was scraping my window I was thinking of him, missing him, and I realized something.  I have learned so much about the language of love from the great man I call my husband.

You see, when he scrapes my windows for me, what he is really saying is, “I love you.”

He says, “I love you,” every time I come home to a clean house, or a nicely manicured yard.  He’s telling me, “I really love you,” when he watches the kids and sends me to the open hot tub, jets on, glass of wine..with my book.

He tells me that I matter when he cooks my favorite dinner, or leaves me breakfast when our paths don’t quite pass.  He tells me that I am important when he asks about my day, or checks in on how I am doing when he knows it’s just me and the kids.

When he watches the musical  movie from 1986, I know I am important, or when he finds a place for those silly old encyclopedias from 1964, teasing me only a little, I know he will love me forever.

See love, is often disguised very much as every day life.

Love is asking yourself, what can I do today to make life a little easier or better.  Love is in the small acts, the every day commitments.

As I scrape the ice off my window today I think, “Thanks Hon, you wise old soul you, I love you too!”

 

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The Uneventful Shower

As a stay at home mom, every shower must be scheduled.  (It’s even worse for a working mom-as there is that time factor).  A few things must take place before said shower can occur:

  1. Kids must be fed
  2. Baby cannot be crying
  3. Everything must be safe and securely in place with “no no” areas, promptly closed off
  4. Drinks and a snack for kids must be prepared and accessible
  5. Favorite doll and pull along vacuum-at the ready

Now Hurry!

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Today, after much preparation, I watched as sidekick #2 removed the towel from the bathroom rack dragging it behind him out of room, returning only to pull every inch of toilet paper off the roll and onto the floor.

Ugh…

So at the end of my shower I stand, freezing, calling sidekick #1 to find my towel, trying to avoid creating clumps of wet toilet paper on my feet.  I wait, “patiently” as she hands me varying colors of hand towels, laughing.

Finally, a towel.

This moment makes me realize as I hear the words, “Let me just jump in the shower really quickly” no stress or worry in their voice, that  a shower is no big deal and even, dare I say, relaxing.  I think to myself: “I don’t know what that is!”

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A Review: Kiss of Fire

Kiss of Fire by Rebecca Ethington was recently recommended to me in the online book club: Bring Your Own Book Club (Do Join If You Like to Read).  Plus, she is local, so I thought I would give it a try and I am so very glad that I did.

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Joclyn is magical.  In many ways, but has no idea just how magical she really is. With best friend, Ryland, by her side, she struggles to find herself during the awkward teenage years.  What she does find is much more than she bargains for, when a mark on her neck that she has tried to keep hidden her entire life, ends up changing her world forever.  From climbing trees, to throwing cars, this books keeps you hooked and enthralled from the get go.  I like Joclyn, I really do.  This is a must read for any fan of YA Fantasy Fiction especially those who enjoy a strong female lead.  I am looking forward to the next book in the series.  Stay tuned!

You can find Kiss of Fire here: http://www.amazon.com/Kiss-Fire-Imdalind-Rebecca-Ethington-ebook/dp/B009ZF5SLM/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1389460254&sr=8-5&keywords=rebecca+ethington

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5 Reasons To Go To A Writing Conference

I was incredibly nervous to attend my first Writing Conference.  I was going to be in the presence of many amazing and accomplished authors, not to mention my competition.  It was a little overwhelming for me.  I decided to do it anyway. My goals: learn a lot, approach at least one person and talk about my story, get out of my comfort zone, and improve my confidence.   I was riding with a couple of said amazing writers who were kind enough to even come and pick me up.

I made an entrance to the Life The Universe and Everything Conference.

It started with a fall, flat on my back as I approached the car.  Not what I had planned.

It was icy, and I was mortified.

Author 1 and Author 2-so kind!

It got much better from there. You see, when you start flat on your back, there really is only one way to look,and that’s up.  So I started climbing to the light.

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I embraced the conference and I learned the following things:

1: I may have been overdressed.  It was a long climb up people.  I am so used to business conferences and the idea of looking professional when presenting oneself to the world. My slacks and sweater were not the common apparel.  I missed the boat on this when I chose not to wear my flashing eyes headband or tie dyed shirt and bathrobe.  For me though, I was comfortable in myself and this helped my confidence.

2: Writers are very nice people.  Conversations came easy and I found that I was enjoying meeting new people.  People offered to read my book and query letter, just because they could and thought it might help me.  People smiled and looked me in the eye as they said hello.  For a bunch of covert home bodies who write in their basements, people skills overall, not too bad!

3: Query letters have only three parts, but are really really hard. I am still waiting for the day when I can say, “Nailed It” but for now, I go back to the drawing board to continue working on the shortest, but most difficult process of my entire book so far. Key takeaways: I have a book, not a series.  I need to work on selling just one.  Also, don’t ask questions in the query, make statements that bring emotion.

4: Be prepared with a pitch and a card. I didn’t have either, so I found myself floundering a little.  Author cards were like pogs back in the day.  Everyone was slapping them out on the table. I felt a little left out.  Followed closely by my name, (and sometimes before, I was asked what my book was about.  I was more used to getting to know people by what they do other than write, that this was a challenge for me.  I am working on something though so I will be prepared next time.  It’s that confidence piece I need to work on and be prepared.  Writing is a business, not just finishing a manuscript.  I am selling something after all.

5: Writing conferences are really really fun. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  I came out of my shell and talked to people I didn’t know.  I told a lot about my story and made connections with people who might actually be able to help me get my book published, at least by giving me feedback and ideas.  I met some great people and took away so many notes.

If you have the chance to attend a conference, I highly recommend it.  It is a great way to really get your feet into the world of writing and decide if it is something you are really committed to.  I am and I am so happy that I didn’t just walk back into my house, but instead, I looked up, and I climbed my way out.

 

 

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10 Things I Learned From My Dad

My Dad is a pretty amazing man.  He helped me to become the person I am today.  The more I look at life, the more I realize that my Dad is a pretty smart man too.  Here are just a few life lessons that I learned from my Dad.

10Puddles are made to jump in. God made rain for a reason.  Yes, we come from a farming background, so there are many needs for rain, but to my Dad-they are made to jump in, enjoy, and give thanks, and thanks should come whether you are in play clothes or your Sunday best. Say thank you, every chance you get!

9-If you drive the car, you can change the tire. It’s important to be independent because you never know when you may be the only one to bail you out.  I learned how to change a tire early on, but I can assure you that if my Dad was anywhere near-by and knew that I had a flat or any type of car trouble, he was the first one to respond.  

8Everyone has good in them. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes a person makes, or if they are openly mean.  It doesn’t matter how many times they take advantage of another person or hurt someones feelings, somewhere, inside there is good.  Through kindness and compassion you can find it. Forgive.  It may take time, but it is worth it. If for some reason they won’t let you in, be kind anyway, but you can love from a distance if it is doing more harm to you than good.

7-Life is too long to be unhappy.  I know the saying most often goes, life’s too short to be unhappy, but my Dad once said, “Life is too damn long to be unhappy, sis” and it’s so true. If you have to change something in your life to truly be happy, then get it done.  You are wasting some valuable times of joy.

6-A lady doesn’t swear. She does, however, stand up for herself.  She can fix almost anything on her own, but it’s okay to let someone open her door.  A lady says “No” but is kind to others and includes everyone. A lady knows how to work, is independent, and never gives up.

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5-A perfect dinner includes Chili Cheese Dogs and things that start with P.  My Dad makes a mean Chili Cheese Dog and is one of my favorite meals with him.  For dinner to be complete though it must also include Pickles, Popcorn, and his People.  Family and friends are the most important in his life.  There’s always room for more at the table, and if needed, he will even offer a ride.

4-Dream Big. I am pretty sure that my Dad thought I was the best at whatever I did.  While that is not true, he did show me that if I really want something and I am willing to work for it, I can probably have it.  He also loves the stars and showed me that our world is so much bigger than us.  There is so much more to life than just what we can touch.  So if it can be imagined, it can probably happen.

3-It’s probably not as bad as it feels right now. This has a double meaning. My Dad taught his girls to be tough, and get back on the horse.  Sometimes though, we really should have stayed off-received stitches-or visited a doctor, however, we have great stories, some scars, and a lot of pride for our accomplishments.  He also has a way of making sure that when times are tough, we know there is a silver lining and it will get better.  When it does get better, he reminds us of how far we have come.  My sisters and I depend on him as our constant in life.  He is our North Star.

2-Tools for life are: a Leatherman, duct tape, WD-40, twine, and a little plywood never hurt.  Pretty much anything can be fixed (or built) if you have those tools on hand.  Some may consider the fix temporary, but if it lasts-that’s permanent wouldn’t you say?

1-Family First and Always. Anything for family.  Anytime.  This also includes, neighbors, friends, and that guy down the street that you have never met, but saw one time. Okay maybe not quite that far, but my Dad will do anything for anyone, but especially his family.  I know he will be there for me no matter what.  This includes a late night drive in the snow for a night in the hospital, a flight across country to drive his daughter home, or smaller, a call at the end of the day to check on something important.  He is a truly amazing man and I am so blessed to call him Dad.

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A Police Officer’s Wife

A tragedy has befallen our local community.  Sgt. Cory Wride of the Utah County Sheriff’s Office was killed in the line of duty.  A routine stop to help a motorist in need.  Something done every day, a kind act, resulted in the loss of his life.  It breaks my heart for his family, and it terrifies me.

I have sat today, glued to the television waiting for every update.  Wanting someone to say, this is isolated and it will never happen again.  But it does, over and over again.  Officers responding to a call, trying to keep the public safe, are all but safe themselves.  Every stop a risk, every call a game of roulette.

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I am an officer’s wife.  I am not noble.  I do not give my life to the service of others every day.  I do not vow to work any hour needed to protect and to serve.  No I do not do that, but, my husband, he does do that and so much more every single day.

I have not been an officer’s wife for very long.  My husband just joined the force a couple of years ago.  I was somewhat un-supportive of the decision at first.  This was a big change for our family and I was nervous, but I came around so my husband could follow his dream, and I am so glad that I did. He was made to be a cop.  He is protective, supportive, kind, caring, and most of all he cares about the community as a whole.  He wears his uniform with pride and class.  I am very proud of him.  I know when he goes to work every day that he is doing something that he loves and something that really matters.  He is an amazing example to our children, and I am proud of him.

I am also fearful.  He is not in the most dangerous department in the country.  It is not common that he will be in a high risk situations, and he is probably in one of the most community supported departments in the state.  This is good.

However,  this is also bad, very bad, because high risk is not always common, the level of protection may not always be there to keep my husband safe.  I know my husband is good and takes precautions just Like Sgt. Wride, but, he may be the only one to respond to an all too common, driver in need of assistance too.  I worry about him and those that he works with.

Every day our officers put their lives on the line.  They do it willingly, it is a part of the job. They are the first called when something goes wrong, the first to respond to an accident, and the first to walk into dangerous situations to the protect the lives of citizens of their community. Every day they go to work knowing there is risk.  They are amazing individuals. I respect them.

I also have great respect for Sgt. Wride’s wife and family. I cannot even understand what they are going through at this difficult time, but I am sure there is a lot of anger.  Anger at the man who killed their loved one, their hero.  Anger at the job for not keeping him safe-it isn’t supposed to happen this way.  Anger for all the missed moments while their husband was working swing, then grave, then day, then weekend, then weekday….so that their schedules made it difficult to spend quality time together.  Anger.   I am also sure that there will be a lot of pride coming soon.  Pride for the man who gave all to others.  Pride for the sacrifice that each one of them made so that he could save the lives that there is no doubt that he did.  Pride for the man that showed all of us what humanity looks like.

To all the police officers and their families….Thank you!  Trust me, I know it can be hard, but it matters…and it is appreciated.

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Medora

I haven’t read a Zombie book in a long time, since I finished the Forest of Hands and Teeth Series, which I loved. But Nerf recently released a group of weapons specifically for the hunting of Zombies, so I decided it was due time to read another one, so I selected Medora by Wick Welker.

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There is an art to writing a book about Zombies.  A high level of intensity must be kept throughout the entire account. I think this is what leads to a very specific personality of the  Zombie book lover.  If you love this type of book, like I do,  Medora will not disappoint!

In Medora, you are introduced to a group of individuals that will stick with you. Keith and his family and friends are the typical American family which all of us can relate to, but the circumstances in this book make me want to stock my vehicle with food and supplies so I can run at the drop of a hat.  It also made me very wishful for more antennas on top of buildings and grateful for all those silly neighbors that leave their Christmas decorations up all year round.  Medora is creative and inventive bringing new thoughts and ideas to some very old, and often hated concepts of life.   I promise not to spoil.

If you love Zombies-you will love Medora, but be prepared to double check your neighbors eyes (and smell), when they tell you they are feeling a little under the weather.

You can find Medora here: http://www.amazon.com/Medora-Zombie-Novel-Wick-Welker-ebook/dp/B00HGMQKZE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1390410654&sr=8-2&keywords=Medora#

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Remembering Who We Are

One of my very cute cousins inspired me today. She is darling, with an infectious laugh and tons of personality.  She also loves dragons-so what’s not to love about this lady.  Ms. Dragoness herself recently completed this beautiful work of Art.

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Isn’t it Lovely!

So is she, and whats so great about this painting is that she just decided to start doing it again.  I for one am so very glad that she did.  Like me, she remembered something that she once loved doing.  She got so busy working and being a totally amazing mom, that she forgot to make time to keep her art alive.

It was so hard for me to get out there.  Hard for me to say, I wrote this, and I hope to get it published one day.  What if I don’t.  What if I told all of these people about something I wanted to do, and I fail?  I worry about this all the time,  but thanks to Ms. Dragoness, I am reminded that I am writing because I love it.  It was something that mattered to me once, and still does.  It has become an outlet for me in so many ways.  I have also been able to meet great people and even make attempts to open some doors for others in the process.  Maybe, even if I don’t get where I want to go with my writing, there is something more in store for me.

Ms. Dragoness, you are an example to me.  Reminding me that we always need to find time to do the things we love, to share our inner creativity.  I challenge each one of you to remember something that you …once loved to do, that you haven’t done in a while: sports, writing, reading, painting, or music…anything… just see how it makes you feel.  Let me know how it goes!  I hope you find that it is just as much fun as you remember it being.

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First Guest Post

I contributed to my first blog, other than my own the other day.  The post is located at:

http://hebervalleywriters.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/more-than-a-book/

Go check out this blog and all of the great writers!

More Than A Book

                When an author says, “Hey, buy my book!” What they are really saying is, “Hey, please support me so I can keep doing what I love!”  After all, what you are buying is more than just a book.  Yes, you will take it home and read it, and it may be only that to you, but to the author you support through your purchase, it is so much more.

Authors are artists in their own way.  Just as paint is carefully placed onto a piece of stretched canvas, each word that an author places into their story, represents something to them.  Words placed in such a way, to make everything make sense, to make magic.  Countless hours are consumed in crafting of the perfect story, representing something beautiful they see in their own mind.

So when you purchase their book, their art, you are not just purchasing a group of pages to be placed on a shelf, you are purchasing their time.  You are buying their energy, their joy and all of the sacrifice that went into creating that story.  You are buying an opportunity for them to continue to do something that they love.

Next time an author says, “Hey, buy my book!”  Show them you support them, and believe in them and that most of all, you want to see their joy.

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                For those of you who don’t read, buy the book anyway, it would be unfortunate if all of the trees surrendered for the writing of a novel had sacrificed their lives for nothing.  If you don’t do it for the art of it, buy books for the Trees!

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21 Steps-Chapter 1

The very first manuscript that I finished, I titled, 21 Steps.  It needs work, and I like to think that I have come a very long way.

Update: After planning to share the entire book here on the blog, I have been encouraged by a very wise woman, not to do so. She’s pretty smart, so I think I should listen-however, if you are interested in more, let me know!

21steps

Chapter 1

December 2008
Derrick Sterling sat on the edge of his bed in the middle of the night, knowing that tomorrow he would be in a jail cell and the view would be very different.  The light from the moon cast his shadow onto the floor below him.  His hands, with their long fingers and bluntly cut fingernails, were shaking as he made the loops with the dark gray shoelaces of his running shoes.  He was angry at himself and scared thinking of what had just taken place.  A single tear fell from his left eye and onto his cheek. He quickly wiped it away with his hand.  He knew what he needed to do and nothing was going to stop him this time.  He quietly exited his room and started down the stairs.  He nearly tripped and fell as he stepped over the one step that creaked and nearly missed the step below.  He caught himself against the wall where his elbow banged into the railing that sent a painful sensation up his arm.  He stood quietly hoping that it didn’t wake up his two sleeping sons or his parents who were staying in the nearby guest bedroom, from out of town.  He continued walking to the front door where he stopped and took a deep breath, then let it out, he repeated this over and over. All of the familiar scents of this place filled his nose.  He turned to take one last look at the place that he called home, thinking to himself that he may never see it again.  He took one more deep breath and turned to open the door.

As he opened the door a wave of cool winter air filled the room.  Derrick stepped out into the cold, descended his front steps and then began his journey down the cracked sidewalk, singing in his head “step on a crack and you’ll break your mothers’ back” out of habit, and he placed his left foot right on the center of a large vertical crack in the cement.  He could feel the frozen humidity as it bounced off his nose and teeth.  He was clothed in a worn out black t-shirt, jeans with a hole in the left knee, and pair of running shoes, but even with the frigid temperature he didn’t feel cold.  His eyes were open but his vision was blurred by the tears. He walked along the sidewalk moving away from his home toward the center of town. He couldn’t focus, he felt like he never would be able to again.  He passed a small Gas ‘n’ Go station on the corner of the street and could hear a couple arguing in their car parked by the pump.  The street light was bright as he passed underneath it and he focused on his shadow.  He noticed how dark it was, and how lifeless it seemed.  He thought to himself maybe that was what his soul looked like too, dark and lifeless.  He pushed the thumb nail on his left hand into his index finger just to see if he could feel it.  Maybe if he could just make it hurt enough it would take away the pain he felt inside.  But he pushed enough to break the skin, and he didn’t feel a thing.

He continued to walk, placing one unfocused and clumsy foot in front of the other, looking up at the moon that was a small sliver of light in the constant dark sky.  He couldn’t see very many stars out tonight, so he again focused on the darkness, thinking that maybe it might represent something.  He tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, he tried to steady himself, but fell to his hands and knees.  He tore the knee of his jeans further open, and made a small cut that ran a drip of dark red blood down his leg, but he couldn’t feel it, so he pushed himself up and just kept walking.  He just needed something, wanted something that could make him feel normal again.  Something that could help him sleep at night, help him to trust other people and to trust in himself. He wanted to feel like a normal person, he wanted to be anybody but Derrick Sterling.

He thought back to the last time that he had truly felt happy.  It was in the summer time and he and his family had left town to go camping and fishing.  He and his wife had loaded their two sons into the back seat of their brown station wagon that his mother had given to them after they got married. With his hands on the wheel they had driven over two hours, up the mountain.  His wife sat in the passenger seat her long brown hair covering her shoulders.  She looked so small with her big dark eyes set deeply into her face.  If you didn’t know her, you would think her eyes always looked a little sad, but that’s just how they were and Derrick knew that, and loved that about her.

Their two boys were in the buckled tightly in the back seat of the car.  The baby was sleeping.  His head was rolled to the side and a small drip of drool was running down his check.  His other son was four years old at the time playing with a small blue truck in his lap, using his legs as roads and opening the doors and closing them again.  He was wearing a blue hat with a green truck on the front and his brown curly hair poked out in all directions under the bottom.  He had big dark eyes like his mothers, and they often looked at Derrick like he was the coolest person in the world.  They played games in the car, sang, and his wife read to them. They camped by a small river that cut through the mountains like a snake and when the sun reflected off the surface of the water it caused a sparkle like the surface was covered in diamonds. He remembered his son casting his red snoopy fishing pole into the water and waiting.  He was so impatient at first and wanted to catch one so badly.  He kept asking Derrick if he was doing it right and what he could do to catch one.  After a few times though, and encouraged patience by his father, he brought out his first fish.  Derrick’s wife cheered from the side of the river.  She was holding their other son tightly in her arms and feeding him a bottle.   At that moment he was truly happy, he felt normal, and felt that he had everything.

He snapped back to reality leaving the happy dream behind, and realized that he was not happy, he was not normal and that he needed help.  Picking up his feet again from where they had stopped he continued to walk through the town.  He had to shield his eyes with his hand as a car came down the road pointing their headlights right at him.  It passed by him but Derrick had to wait for his eyes to readjust to the darkness.  He continued on passing by the local grocery store, the clothing store, the pawn shop, and the bakery outlet.  He could see his destination up ahead and he continued to move forward putting one running shoe in front of the other.

The building stood like a castle against the dark sky.  It was white and tall with a domed ceiling and a large staircase escalating up to the front doors.  He took a forced deep breath again and then another one. Derrick began to climb the steps, he could feel his heart racing in his chest and he thought to himself that this was the first time he had been able to feel in so long.  He reached the top of the steps and stopped to stare at the large wood doors before him.  The glass window in the door read “Hanover City Police.” He reached out his hand to the large brass handle.  The handle was cold against his hand and he almost pulled away, but he didn’t.  He knew what he had to do.  He repositioned his hand and pulled open the door.

A wave of warm air passed over him as he stepped into the room.  It was a small entry room that led into a long hall.  There was a small plant in the corner that was turning brown on the end of the leaves and curling over.  Step 1: He moved forward walking on the concrete floor toward the end of the hall.  He could hear his footsteps bouncing off of the walls as he stepped 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…  He could hear his breath slow and deep and could feel the pounding of his heart. For a brief moment,  step 15,  he stopped terrified at the decision he was making.  He wasn’t sure if this was what he should do.  He wasn’t sure if it would really change anything.  He looked back at the door and thought of the reason that he had come.  He thought of his two boys asleep, safe in their beds at home, and the life that they deserved.  He turned back around and continued to step.  He thought about placing one foot in front of the other, and nothing more.

At step 21, the end of the hall was a long desk with a bullet proof window separating the desk from the hallway.  Derrick looked at the desk to see a woman with gray hair pulled up in a bun.  She looked kind, like his grandma, with pudgy cheeks and soft hands.  She looked up at him and Derrick noticed that she had really deep blue eyes and nice teeth.

“Can I help you?” she said.

Derrick took a deep slow breath and looked her right in the eye, “I did it, I killed my wife” he said.

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