Writing is a solitary endeavor. That makes the decision to publish all the more daunting.
Sometimes, while seeking the panoramas, we forget to use the macro lens and photograph the little things right in front of us.
I don’t know what possessed me to come see you. I, who held you all my life inside my hands and thought they were empty.
A dear friend and truly amazing woman once gave me advice I still hold close to my heart every day: “Do what you love, and the money will follow.”
when their wings are broken as do butterflies before they die. Moon drives her brother down down down as ink washes over the blood….
The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family.
He shouldn’t have moved. If he hadn’t have moved, he wouldn’t have died. I told him not to move. I’ve never fired a gun before.
Voice. It’s a simple concept. Execution? Not always quite as easy. An author’s voice is unique. Even if you’ve never read beyond the first page….
My cramped fingers finally lose their hold on the porous rock. My heart hurdles into my throat. I gasp, arms pin-wheeling, flailing….
Halfway there. The stars upside down above the shore, also screaming in silence. Such need. Rowing, rowing, still halfway there.