Monday, January 28, 2013. I tuck my fingers under my thighs. To keep them off you. While I scan your outline for. All the places you keep secrets. I inhale wanting to touch you deeper. My breath holds on to itself. As I wrap around you in a warm soft hug. I long to brush your face. Holding it in my hands for clues. We part to go on alone. I can feel the trap doors. Paranoia seeps under day light cracks.

Written with a respectful nod to William Faulkner who gave his nod to Shakespeare. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,. Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,. To the last syllable of recorded time;. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools. The way to dusty death. That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. And then is heard no more; it is a tale.

Writing for business, the arts, and social services. Thursday, September 16, 2010. Yesterday, I received a direct mail piece from The Sun Magazine. And read every word in the piece! Designed like a miniature version of the magazine, it contains seven fold-out panels alternating pages of photos and text.

Send Us Your Member News. New Member Award or Honor. From the massive log walls to the tall stone fireplace to the filled bookcases throughout the house, the place speaks of craft and imagination and the adventure of writing.