A Person Who Deserves My Loyalty Receives

I Have Long Observed That The Act Of Writing Is Viewed, By Some, As An Elite And Otherworldly Act, All The More So If A Person Isn't Paid For What She Writes.

You Lay Your Hand Against His Skin And Just Rib His Back. Blow Into His Ear. Press That Baby Up Against Your Own Skin And Walk Outside With Him, Where The Night Air Will Sourround Him, And Moonlight Fall On His Face. Whistle, Maybe. Dance. Hum. Pray. (how To Calm A Crying Baby)

I Continued To Protect Him With My Silence.

I Think Of Myself As A Realistic Writer, Not A Creator Of Soap Opera Or Melodrama.

I Have No Doubt That Over The Years My Children Will Find Plenty Of Things About Me To Criticize. But Something Tells Me That Twenty Years From Now Not One Of Them Will Sit On Some Therapist's Couch Complaining Because Their Mother Didn't Spend Enough Time Vacuuming Up Glitter.