One of my earliest memories of the creative process at work was watching my grandma sew on her Singer machine. She wasn't a seamstress, ...

I've had a spell, writing wise, of lying fallow, rare for me and very uncomfortable. I'm much happier when working wildly on a book,...

And all the names of the tribes, the nomads of faith who walked in the monotone of the desert and saw brightness and faith and colour. The w...

It is gray today, muted and soft, though thankfully not cold. I forget until this kind of day how much brilliance of color the sun offers. T...

I choose to be a figure in that light, half-blotted by darkness, something moving across that space, the color of stone greeting the moon, y...