Only I can tell this the way I can. If I didn’t believe that someone’s individual voice could make a difference, then I certainly wouldn’t be writing novels. Part of the beauty of that is taking comfort or finding inspiration in someone else’s words, just hearing or reading that someone else is experiencing or has experienced something similar.

So, I know the month’s not over, but in an effort to catch up numerically I wrote over fifty haikus so far in September.

Plain Bad Heroines, by Emily M. Danforth, has been one of the most engrossing, twisting, romantic (and Romantic), and horrifying reads of my year.

The beauty, the heartbreak, and the soul of Hadestown? Hope. Maybe it will turn out this time.

Cooking is, if anything else, hopeful.

Patterns are part of nature, and the lessons learned in one particular time and place can often be applied elsewhere.

Life doesn’t have a roadmap, so why should this story?

Appreciation may be the antidote for existential regret, but there’s no reason one cannot appreciate what one has and yet hope for more.

It’s the middle of August as it is, a week from my birthday, the season of the sun and the season of fire. Plants are a part of that, and that first tomato will be as much an affirmation of life and of summer as that rising sun.

I remembered how good it felt, thinking that life was a game we could play, and somehow win. It scared me. It still does.