There is a book inside me waiting to be released, the story sending shockwaves, reverberating within, shaking the past, altering it and a future yet to be shaped. The burden.

Fine, I admit it--I'm excited about becoming a student. Again. Just received UNCW's MFA course descriptions for next year. So, you're telling me no more late nights slumped before a pulsing screen, one eye closed, forming sentences in a semi-conscious state?

Yep, I'm excited, feeling papillon, Old French, a butterfly.

Change is in the mail.

Yesterday, I received a gift, unexpected only because I forgot about the request, the email I sent claiming to have heard from Kate Greenstreet that they were giving away copies. For free. And so it arrived, the first issue of Practice: New Writing + Art.

It saved my life, starving, depleted. Let it save yours. Email the editors and get a copy. Then eat. Be full.

Absent

Feeling overwhelmed / nothing to say / change / is / imminent.

It's been said before.

Wake up.

Once, I awoke before dawn, a child, alone, covers drawn tight. Looking at the open doorway, I saw someone standing in the frame, transparent, pulling a bow tightly, an arrow poised, flying through the air, the figure reloading rapidly and launching a cloud of flint-tipped rods toward me. I ducked under the covers, felt arrows bounce off shoulders, shaking, frightened.

When the round had finished, I peeked around folds of cotton, and nothing. Just morning light.

My new author photo -- giggle -- (which SOFTBLOW dug)
Tired. In love.