Thursday, August 29, 2013


When the heat is on, it’s outside my window. I live in the desert—magnificent sunsets and stunning skies that’ll make you believe in miracles.
But heat is not something I think about when I think about my writing.
My best writing comes in the quiet times, the whispers, the gentle nods of the wind. 
 It comes unexpectedly when I’m not looking or asking for anything other than the truth.   

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