still remembering you

My dad with Cory. “We,” meaning my parents, still lived on Walnut Street. This was probably taken on Halloween of 1991. I loved my father. He passed away of Parkinson's Disease in October, 1999. I was in California.

transcendental

“We see those things we choose to be. And then we become those things.”

—John Liptow

daily writing

I am doing it. I’m writing. My fingers hit the keys daily. It is awesome and I am not alone. I have these awesome people: the people of my dreams.

I wrote into Bosom Lies today. I read from “Riding The Thin, White Line.” I opened up “The New Century Disaster,” but wrote nothing. I think “From This Beauty, This Heart” is on hold. Bosom Lies has 1100 words.

If I stop writing, I will start dying.

bosom lies

I was wrong: Bosom Lies is a novel; not “Bosom Lies,” short story. I started it tonight. To be dedicated to the girl whose heart I hurt.

It has very few words: 128. More to come.

Good story, good style, good structure. Good. I’m liking it.