It's the one constant in my life. Hairstyles come and go. Thank God. (Does anyone remember the dreaded Pixie Cut?) But the love of a pen sailing across the page is something of which I've never tired. It's been said that writing is somewhere between torture and fun. Why do we tortured souls with ink-stained fingers do it, you ask? Because we have no choice. Words and phrases pile up in the dusty corners of our minds until there's no room left for anything else. A story demands to be written, when it's ready to be written. Kind of like having a baby. Once it starts pushing...there's no holding back.
I chase them down with a passion, unwilling to settle for the tale that sits on the surface. Digging until I reveal the truth. Beneath the pretty layers we present to the world, we find relationships stripped of pretense. Stories of life and love and families. Standing in their raw vulnerability, we see our friends, our sisters,... ourselves. Barefaced, they are even more beautiful. Without a protective shield, we are able to recognize them for who they truly are.