Life luscious wet life bereft of death, loss of empty shell minus absent of nothing exploding star cell amoeba sweet algae oxygen, hydrogen flowering in the vacuum ofspace and magnetic motion.

I am a single note, a tone that peals in the wind. I am in the magic of the moment and then he returns, flowing toward me around the thick immense bark of the Sequoia.

I hope that I capture something in my work that is about the elusive, the magical and powerful and the transformative. The writing in itself is transformative for me.

The full moon cast an eerie glow through thick ancient dark woods. In the shadows around a tree, the serial killer ran his knife lovingly over Chelsea’s trussed dead body. She lay, as if posed for a photo, wearing only bloody pink underpants.

Be in your own skin, as an act of self-loving.

I write because I am a writer, not because I want to get anything out of it.

She held herself until the sobs of the child inside subsided entirely. I love you, she told herself. It will all be okay.

Samantha reminds me of the difference between what is illusion and what is real. I am reminded whenever I forget that we choose our truth and whether to embrace it or not.

The writing in itself is transformative for me.

I have found that a writer is formed not so much by their experiences but by the way in which they view and capture those experiences.