I Have Absurdly Vivid Dreams.

"i Am Already Married," She Remarks To The Empty Air, Twisting The Ring On Her Right Hand That Covers An Sold, Distinctive Scar.

The Night That Seemed Endless Hours Before Is Now Slipping Through Your Fingers, Ticking By As It Falls Into The Past And Pushes You Towards The Future.

Secrets Have Power. And That Power Diminishes When They Are Shared, So They Are Best Kept And Kept Well. Sharing Secrets, Real Secrets, Important Ones, With Even One Other Person, Will Change Them. Writing Them Down Is Worse, Because Who Can Tell How Many Eyes Might See Them Inscribed On Paper, No Matter How Careful You Might Be With It. So It's Really Best To Keep Your Secrets When You Have Them, For Their Own Good, As Well As Yours.

It's Helpful For Me To Get Ideas - The Physical Action Of Painting. Sometimes It Frees Up Your Writer Brain. It's Nice For Me Now That The Writing Has Become A Serious Career That Painting Can Become More Like A Hobby.

The Funeral Is A Quiet One, Despite The Number Of Mourners Present. There Are No Sobs Or Flailing Handkerchiefs. There Is A Smattering Of Color Amongst The Sea Of Traditional Black. Even The Light Rain Cannot Push It Down Into The Realms Of Despair. It Rests Instead In A Space Of Thoughtful Melancholy.