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If I had the wherewithal

I’d move to an island far from these shores.

I’d build me a small house on a beach.

I’d offer up my troubles to the sea.

Sending them off on the tides and let my heart be free.

I’d soar on the wind.

I’d dance on the waves.

I sing to the moon and laugh at the sun.

I’d bury myself in the sand.




What inspires you?


     Is it a remembered poem or story from your childhood or high school?  Perhaps it was something a teacher said to you. 

     I could say that my mother and baby sister inspired me because they both encouraged my writing.  That would be true and I miss it.  My Aunties and Cousins along with some dear friends all cheer me on these days.

     Other writers inspire me.  A lovely day inspires me.  Many things inspire me.  However, inspiration isn’t the only thing that keeps me writing.  I have to write.  If I didn’t I think I’d blow a gasket.  On days that I can’t sit down and write, I am cranky and difficult to live with.  Writing, even if it’s only a letter or my daily blog post, is my stress reliever.

     As a child I secretly wrote fairy stories, as a teen I wrote angst-filled poetry, as a young woman I wrote magazine articles about dogs and tons of unpublished (long lost somewhere in the depths of my attic) reams of fantasy fiction.  Now, as a woman of a certain age, I’ve found my voice in mysteries.