Why I write

I write because my heart has a rhythm and my fingertips like to dance.

I write because simple led on lined paper is my antidote to fear.

I write because telling stories is powerful.

I write because my grandmothers didn’t and I wish that they had.

I write because anxious giggles, painful knots, and stubborn anger don’t move out of me unless I make them.

I write because my subconscious likes to play

I write to remember the pillars to my manuscript, the chapters of my core.

I write to humble myself, using pen as prayer and paper as sacred ground.

I write to let go, the way that trees let got of their leaves in the fall, spinning through the air.  I like to imagine my words as the reddest maple leaves, making their way to the ground, on a cold October day.