Dear Reader, What a month it’s been! At the end of November, I crashed — and hard. I slept in far more than was normal for myself and struggled to sit at the writing desk and concentrate long enough to put coherent sentences together. It was a strange feeling to need a vacation after a month of digging deep and writing my heart out. I’ve taken part in National Novel Writing Month since back in 2009, and I never recall…
I am a storyteller. I do not know when the gift was given to me, or when I even became aware that I had this gift. Does one sit around wondering when they learned to breathe? Stories seek me out, encapsulate me, and hold me hostage until I tell their whole existence, every minute detail. They haunt me, filling my dreams with their escapades as they romp through their lives demanding I notice and hear them, begging me not to…
The little family didn’t notice the sun was setting, because they were too busy playing their board game, moving small trains around the map and howling with frustration when someone else’s train blocked them. While equally laughing with triumph when they were able to procure a slot for their own little trains. As it grew dark the game was packed away and the tired, happy people went inside for dinner. They closed up the little house snuggly against the autumn…
I sit on the sofa with my feet resting up on the arm. It’s a short sofa, and my legs are longer than most. I find myself distracted by the quilt that is thrown on the back of the sofa, someone has placed it upside down displaying the many wondrous flags of the 1860’s, and I wonder how many of those flags still look the same. I’m not left wondering on this topic for long though, as I catch movement…