Part Of The Creative Process For Me

Stones And Bones; Snow And Frost; Seeds And Beans And Polliwogs. Paths And Twigs, Assorted Kisses, We All Know Who Daddy Misses! His Two Little Frogs Of Girls, That’s Who. They Know Where They Are, Do You, Do You?

She Was Unaware That She Was Somewhat Of A Celebrity Up In Heaven. I Had Told People About Her, What She Did, How She Observed Moments Of Silence Up And Down The City And Wrote Small Individual Prayers In Her Journal, And The Story Had Travelled So Quickly That Women Lined Up To Know She Had Found Where They’d Been Killed. She Had Fans In Heaven..... Meanwhile, For Us, She Was Doing Important Work, Work That Most People On Earth Were Too Frightened Even Too Contemplate.

Your First Kiss Is Destiny Knocking.

These Things, She Felt, Were Not To Be Passed Around Like Disingenuous Party Favors. She Kept An Honor Code With Her Journals And Her Poems. 'inside, Inside,' She Would Whisper Quietly To Herself When She Felt The Urge To Tell.

Part Of The Creative Process For Me Is An Invitation For Readers To Follow Their Imagination.