I Have Daughters Who Are Writers And

My Dad And I Had A Real Meeting Of The Minds. We Loved To Talk About Music, Politics, And Art. He Loved Children. The Thing I Missed Most About My Dad When He Died Was That This Person Who Really Gets Who I Am At The Core Was Gone.

Well, The First Year I Lost My Voice I Didn't Mind So Much Because I Was Going To Have A Baby And I Was Distracted With Him Anyway, I Didn't Even Think About It That Much, Well, Ok, This Is What's Happening.

I Have A Real Worker-bee Mentality. Just Show Up, Just Do It. Even If You Feel Like S--t And You Think You're Terrible And You'll Never Get Better And It Will Never Go Anywhere, Just Show Up And Do It. And, Eventually, Something Happens.

I Dream Of Songs. I Dream They Fall Down Through The Centuries, From My Distant Ancestors, And Come To Me. I Dream Of Lullabies And Sea Shanties And Keening Cries And Rhythms And Stories And Backbeats.

It's A Little Dangerous For Me To Get Outside Myself And Think About How I Want People To See Me.