Reasons for Writing
I started writing for two reasons. The first was spite.
I was nine years old and in the fourth grade. My childhood was less than stable and for that year I was living
The Hollow Horse
Sin played his little tune, a sales pitch for the old men, the empty, and the lost. He played to their vanity but also their fear. A fear that had buried itself deep into their hearts and souls. A fear that whispered in their ears, a constant refrain, "Everyone else is just like you."
In the Forest Dark
I am in the middle of this journey, and I am lost. My wood is dark but it flickers with light, bits clicking on and off, electrical matter sparks in the distance, and somewhere there is a screen of static, intermittent blacks and whites, hovering like witch-light on the horizon.
The rhythm is the challenge
The rhythm is the challenge. How to find a beat and stick to it when everything else beats just a little off pace.
A Sort of Magic
When I was five, I lived in a magical place in the middle the woods.