a writer comes of age

…it means you are a slave to the words bursting forth from your mind… 7 years old / what do you want to be when you grow up, he asked me. a writer, i answered. 8 years old / i sit for hours my legs cross eagle and numb, pencil in hand diligently scribbling on…

i do haiku

on the day I was married 1,082 died in Nigeria.

Creative Angst…Beware?

This blog is a personal sojourn through my own creative angst. I want very much to awaken from the self-induced creative coma I have placed my muse in for the last decade. I am ready to rejoin the world as writer. This blog is my roadmap back. To jump start my creative mojo, I’ve challenged…