Great Lovers Realize That They Are What

The Aim Is To Burn Through To First Thoughts, To The Place Where Energy Is Unobstructed By Social Politeness Or The Internal Censor, To The Place Where You Are Writing What You Mind Actually Sees And Feels, Not What It Thinks It Should See Or Feel.

Life Is Not Orderly. No Matter How We Try To Make Life So, Right In The Middle Of It We Die, Lose A Leg, Fall In Love, Drop A Jar Of Applesauce. In Summer, We Work Hard To Make A Tidy Garden, Bordered By Pansies With Rows Or Clumps Of Columbine, Petunias, Bleeding Hearts. Then We Find Ourselves Longing For The Forest, Where Everything Has The Appearance Of Disorder; Yet We Feel Peaceful There.

Sometimes When You Think You Are Done, It Is Just The Edge Of Beginning. Probably That's Why We Decide We're Done. It's Getting Too Scary. We Are Touching Down Onto Something Real. It Is Beyond The Point When You Think You Are Done That Often Something Strong Comes Out.

As Writers We Need To Crack Open Language.

Women Need Space And Silence. We Too Quickly Give Away Our Energy. There's Something About Holding That Richness.