RIPPLES ROLL ACROSS MY BODY WHEN YOU TOUCH ME
LIKE THE WATER IN A STILL LAKE AT THE EARLY MORNING’S RISE
AS A PEBBLE IS SKIPPED ACROSS THE SURFACE.
I AM YOUR DREAM,
YOUR ESCAPE FROM REALITY.
A NEVERLAND, I AM YOUR PLACE
TO PLAY AND LAUGH, LET GO AND BE.
I AM YOUR VISION,
YOUR ILLUSION IN YOUR HEAD.
AN IMAGE, I AM WHAT YOU CREATE TO FILL YOUR VOID.
I AM YOUR CREATION,
YOUR PAINTING ON A WALL.
A MASTERPIECE, I AM FROZEN IN TIME
DEPICTING EVERY EXPRESSION OF YOUR HEART’S DESIRE.
Writing not what she knows, but what she feels.
“When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people, not characters. A character is a caricature.”
“Write while the heat is in you. … The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with.”
—Henry David Thoreau