I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.
HEAD SLAPS, SPEED BUMPS and LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.
They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Am reading Katrina Kenison’s THE GIFT OF AN ORDINARY DAY. It was given to me awhile back by a co-worker who loved it. When I started it back then, I thought, of course she loves it, she has two sons like Kenison and one of them is even named Henry, just like Kenison. I couldn’t connect, and set the book aside, until last night.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
|View from a kite.|
|Our beach and the jetty at low tide.|
This will not be a squishy plastic bath-book or a shiny thick-paged cardboard bed-time read for a toddler. It’s for the grown-up girl who may decide someday to finally read that book her Nana put together. I can say with confidence that she and every single person who chooses to scan the contents, will be able to at least find one, out of the one-hundred, that will give her, and them, a head-slap, speed-bump, or light-bulb moment.