The Work Of The World Is Common

Connections Are Made Slowly, Sometimes They Grow Underground.

Writing Is A Futile Attempt To Preserve What Disappears Moment By Moment. All That Remains Of My Mother Is What I Remember And What I Have Written For And About Her. Eventually That Is All That Will Remain Of [my Husband] And Me. Writing Sometimes Feels Frivolous And Sometimes Sacred, But Memory Is One Of My Strongest Muses. I Serve Her With My Words. So Long As People Read, Those We Love Survive However Evanescently. As Do We Writers, Saying With Our Life's Work, Remember. Remember Us. Remember Me.

I Am A Driven Writer. I Feel Guilty If I Don't Write, Not Self-indulgent If I Do.

When I Work I Am Pure As An Angel Tiger And Clear Is My Eye And Hot My Brain And Silent All The Whining Grunting Piglets Of The Appetites.

The Moon Is Always Female And So Am I Although Often In The Vale Of Razorblades I Have Wished I Could Put On And Take Off My Sex Like A Dress And Why Not?