There’s an anger, a restlessness about you. You’re carrying scars from your childhood, perhaps. I see you in pigtails laying flowers on your mother’s grave on a winter morning. You’re wondering to yourself why Dad is crying and where Mom went. Or did your dad leave you when you were a child? Mom cried every time you asked her when dad would be back and you didn’t know why.
My writing process always begins with sitting outside with my notebook and procrastinating! The photo denotes the edge of reality and fiction I’m sitting on. This photo is in response to WordPress’s… Read more »