Finding Home

Not quite there yet.

I’ve been reading a fellow author’s blog and he is blogging on how to start writing. He does well, I think. I’m not quite that confident–I’m still trying to believe that I am one. It will help when Peace Cottage is actually out and circulating. I’ve been working hard on Vinehart Farm, and the more I get into the story, the more I think that the title isn’t quite right. There’s a local farm here called Gopher Broke Farm (see I really like that name. I want the feel of Gopher Broke, the three syllableness about it. Any suggestions out there? Meanwhile, what I know about writing as of now is that I have to do it. And maybe that’s my first lesson for you. If you feel like you have to do it, then honor the impulse. You’re a writer because you need to be, not because you’re published. That makes me a writer at about three years old.

Tonight I left work early to avoid driving in the dark during a huge storm. I walked into our home and put myself to work, doing dishes with one daughter, folding laundry with another. And in the midst of all this business, I thought of the start to a poem. “She could not deal with idle hands unless she held a book.”

Safe driving, everyone.



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I've been to Barcelona three times and I'm ready to return!

Down to Earth

Finding Home


Finding Home

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