In my ripening years I am
possessive of the Mystery—
no one else may own the Still, Small Voice.
Let me be an apologist for a glass of water,
In my ripening years I am
possessive of the Mystery—
no one else may own the Still, Small Voice.
Let me be an apologist for a glass of water,
Thought I’d post a bit of my work-in-progress, Looking-Glass Girl. In this scene, my protagonist, Alice, first meets Suzanne Manet, wife of Edouard Manet.
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It was my first trip abroad in 32 years. For two months I wandered solo from Paris to the French countryside and attempted time-travel. In my computer was a half-completed novel called Looking Glass Girl.
“Attached to the wall below me was a ladder. It must have been for building maintenance people to do whatever it is they do.
The taut ground of soothsayer
Who broods in caverns for a glimpse of light.
How have I lost the glinting stone
I kept so long in my fist?
You speak in riddles because
You ache to speak.
You ache for space
To expand and contract.
I have not shared any of my work-in-progress here because it has felt too close to the bone. It’s a YA. It’s about art. And it’s about time-travel.
Those most beautiful
I couldn’t read for a crowd.
When Sexton, blind with love,
Saw her daughter’s life stretch out,