Winter Dreams Leaves, September-soft crisping with November frost – winter dreams in white.
Octopus Wrangling, or How to Write a Novel
That moment when an idea for a novel is born is tremendously exciting. It’s like this tiny mote of dust floats into your mind, forms a seed, implants itself in your brain, splits, bursts open and then launches a wild growth spurt, sprouting characters and themes and plots and subplots and then more characters which have their own backgrounds and subplots and tangents and subtexts and suddenly...
This is a poem I wrote after I was given the privilege of participating in an inipi or sweat lodge. It was an incredible experience and difficult to put into words. Born in the nursery of the universe we are born on a pillow of stars, wrapped in the magic blankets of night. in the pure eternal black, we huddle close; deeper in the womb closer to the sun the heat of our bodies feels like...