Outside my open window a light breeze is blowing and an occasional red tail hawk sweeps over with light shining through her rust red tail.
For me, writing is a way of reaching out to others, to people I don't know. I sit alone, in silence, but all that time I’m out there, connecting with whoever reads my words.
Indigo hours of early morning rewriting and revising, while my three sweet teenagers slept and the cat walked across my keyboard. All those wonderful writing years, with my dogs sleeping at my feet, while a pot of pinto beans simmered on the back of the stove, and afternoon sun poured through the window, with tiny dust particles floating in the sunlight.
Age is a wise teacher. I'm more focused. More aware that my reserves are no longer limitless and where I put my time matters. How do I want to spend my afternoons when I'm not writing? What books and writing projects do I want to put forth? And to be living after I am not living?
I value the collective experience collaborating with writers. In addition to my solo work I'm the founding editor of a literary journal and a contributing author of fifteen books.
Within my collection of writings available online many are serious/substantial, balanced with lighter topics. Most of all, my writing is timeless (vs timely).