Writer, reader, dreamer.    I write to let the voices in my head be heard.  I used to own a restaurant, now I'm momentarily free of that distraction. The voices are easier to hear now.  Don't know where my next adventure will lead, but I'm looking forward to the Journey. (updated 7/4/2015)

 A long time ago, I used to make up stories. Write them down and sometimes illustrate them.

I took creative writing in high school. Even a poetry class.  I wrote. I have little journal books of crappy teen angst poems. The stories I wrote?  I don't know where they are. Long decomposed in some landfill I expect. 

It all got lost.  In growing up and boys and work. Then motherhood and marriage.  Yes the mommy part came first.

The stories were still there. Locked in my head. Told and retold to the invisible passenger as I drove my intergalactic fighter or horse drawn cart to work or the grocery.

Pieces of elsetime.  Glimpses of otherwhen. 

I can remember my mother telling me long ago she could see me at a typewriter, mixed drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, cranking out books. 

Didn't happen.

Yet.

But I have taken a step. Sitting in front of a keyboard, coffee mug in one hand, cigarette in the other.  Learning how to pull  pieces and glimpses of elsetime and otherwhen out of my head and put them together. 

Telling those stories. Flying my magic carpet through the internet babbling away to You, my invisible passengers. 

My Goal?  

Simple.

Don't stop.