It came as an attack on my mind. It forced the pen into my hand, and the movements began involuntarily at first. My will to fight it was waning. It was less painful to simply let it take control and move whichever way it lead. I did not know the ending, for I could not see that far ahead. My vision was limited to only a few words into the future. It feared I could not keep up if more…
The thief let herself in. The homeowner was unaware of the atrocities striking at that very moment. Through years of hard work and knowledge – learned and re-learned, the owner had set out to help others along the same path. The owner, revered in her field, while the thief was unknown. The owner had built something beautiful. A kitchen, so unique, it was the envy of anyone who’s eyes were to behold it. The living room was immaculate and featured…
I can create worlds with the stroke of my pen. Then, with an eraser, I can make them disappear and create something entirely different, something new. Perhaps this new world will be better than the former, but perhaps not. One might wonder where such great power comes from, but I can not tell you, for I scary know. My imagination simply takes off at a run in which my mind scrambles to translate into words and my hands ache at…
A weaver’s afghan began not at the loom. No, the piece first began with an idea. The idea then took form and solidified. The idea had to take shape and that required action. The proper loom and just the right threads had to be found. The colors had to be chosen in proper hues to bring the idea life and fulfill its final destiny. Then, the weaver began taking the twists and turns to necessary make a straight thread become…