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  • Writer's pictureDarrell Case

I' m a country writer

After I’ve made that statement you might be inclined to think all I write about are country themes. I am in fact a novelist writing thrillers, mysteries are my major genres. Creating characters out of nothing but my imagination. Yet farming is in my background and in my blood. I grew up on the farm with milk cows, chickens (actually hens) and pigs. In the spring, my father would plant corn or soybeans in the fields north and south of the house. Some of my favorite memories were accompanying him to the feed mill to have corn ground into feed for the hogs. We fed the cows ears of corn. My grandparents on both sides were farmers. I spent my younger years roaming the woods fishing and learning to love nature. Building forts and cabins out of discarded 10-gallon milk cans and pieces of tin. Later I learned the hard things like digging a post hole in August in clay soil. Chasing the cows out of the corn with stocks so high you went by the sound of their movement. Putting up hay when the bales weighted almost as much as I did. At least it seemed that way. Riding the school bus with a driver named Jolly. Remembering the last day of school one year when one of the boys rode his white horse. I had always dreamed of having a white horse or any horse for that matter. The closest I came was riding one of the cows out of the lot after the milking. It was not the same. I didn’t care for it and neither did she. Today my wife and I live on land my parents purchased in 1948. 40 acres for $1,000.00 nothing in modern day prices, but a hefty amount in those times. My office is located 200 feet from the house. Several years before Lowe’s install a full glass door overlooking the stream and woods South through the large windows is a young forest and to the west a path leading to the catfish pond. The writing studio is equipped with a heater, and an eclectic fireplace. A small refrigerator, microwave and of course a computer. Many mornings deer graze at the edge of the woods. At times squirrels eat from the bird feeders . In the summer hummingbirds, fly into the office through the open window. I interrupt my writing to open the door if they can't find their way out. The wind chimes, the sound of the birds are only distraction . Visitors are few unless you count the animals. Or my dog Abby, who lies at my feet as I write. So there you have it. I hope this explains the way I call myself a country writer.

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