#theWRiteLife #anartistslife #writer #snow #snowpoet I am happiest when it snows. I am forced in, then inward. Once inward, I don’t just think of myself, but of how difficult and even life-threatening snow has been on women: Women of days past, Russian farmers, Scandinavian mothers, of my pioneer ancestors, and gold rush whores. Snow is my perfection, but I am not fooled. The snow sparkles, cleanses even the ugliest of sights, takes trash out of the picture. I want to write.

#theWRitelife #awriterslife #anartistslife #writing #voice I wanted to be a country western star. I started taking voice lessons when I was a teen into my twenties. In my desperation to become accomplished, I took lessons from several instructors. My voice was never great. I really didn’t have what it takes to be a star or a vocalist with a strong following. Teachers would help me to stay on key. Teachers would help me to move from my middle voice to my head voice. Teachers d

Living the life as an artist is meaningful. I have trained myself to begin my day with mediation and gratitude. I drink my coffee outside where I listen to birds and watch birds mate, build nests. I pay attention to the rose that stands tight in its cocoon and watch it slowly release and open. Being present and feeling, and seeing, and listening, and taking life in as it unfolds and presents itself doesn't make me a great artist, but it has trained me to be open, so I write s

I started looking for an agent twenty years ago. This statement makes me either a fool or steadfast. A fool because isn't it common knowledge that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results--yes, I know that foolishness and insanity are two different words and greatly differ in meaning. Am I a fool? Am I insane? I don't think I am either. I sometimes think I rely too much on hope, on needing others to validate my work. Is it wrong for