Locked up in the imaginary world of writing. It’s not always so accessible, so effortless, and when it is lock yourself in and give it your life.
The fall drapery from the window teases me with specks of sunlight, and leaves dropping like snowflakes. My spirit is drawn outdoors.
to walk, hike, run in its splendor. Sacrifice is how we finish our plays, canvas, book, song, and poem.


ON THE 8ft dining room table there are now eight stacks of start and stop memoir versions, going back to 2003, and I am still digging through folders INSIDE folders.
Without a click of common sense; how will I structure the book for publication? I wish someone would just follow me around and record, this process. Creative canons shoot me to the end!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!