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I’m the mother of twins. Twin sons and twin genres. My stories are my babies, just like my real kids, but neither my sons nor my genres resemble each other.
One of my sons is a brunette who plays guitar and loves baseball. He wants to be a marine biologist or a computer programmer or (fill in the flavor of the day). The other is a blonde who plays drums and loves skateboarding. He wants to be Albert Einstein, period. People who meet them for the first time don’t believe they’re twins. If I hadn’t been there for the c-section that followed twenty-two hours of labor, I might not believe it either.