I believe in process over product, in intimacy over orgasm, in room temp red wine and whiskey over ice, in hot coffee, in the blue puddles of juniper berries in autumn, that horses can absorb anxiety, in real books... the kind in libraries that smell good and fit nicely in your hands.

I believe in hot baths, forcing bulbs any time of year, in living off-grid, that it is irresponsible not to grow at least some of your food, in composting with earthworms, and that…

So sometimes there is no action in my writing because I tend to be all about character and metaphor and imagery and the six senses, all focused on the Dylan-style list of things that turn me on, the succulent drip of possibility.

So I forget to add in a murder or a betrayal or a trip to the circus because instead I am putting Diana Krall, fried eggs, and tadpoles together in a way that makes sense.

For me, the story is just a framework to hang my characters…

The cucumber vines are setting tiny penises while the tomato vines ripen solid orbs, the zuchinni plants overshadow the frail lettuce leaves and the corn pushes always upwards.

I cleaned out the last closet and moved the heavy sheilds from the windows of the sitting room off of the master bedroom all while thinking about how this is the nicest house I have ever lived in, and I am glad for the additional light now that the cardboards are gone, the cardboards that have been up…

The model on the front of the catalog sat on a rugged outcropping of rock in front of a glorious sunset that shone like blood on the mountain range--all in decided contrast to the slim clean lines of her clothing that looked as minimalist as if she had been wearing pastel-colored skin.

She was not smiling, but looking into the camera with fierce pride, and you just knew she had climbed the moutain herself.

I went through my closets, scorning the old lumpy…

Homeschooled and ruined from the start by a mother who wears a Rolling Stones t-shirt, he has chosen to make his own way and shun the paths hacked into time by those who have gone before, learning the old ways with leather and rawhide and horsehair and animals.

He lives in the bunkhouse and rides their rough string and won't go to college until he is sure of what he wants to do, but right now his housing is furnished, as well as his utilities, beef, health insurance, a company…

Ctrl-S (save) and Ctrl-P (print) and "Attach a File" are the three things that bring fear to my soul because it means that I am "done" or am I ever ever done, ever completely finished, ever fully able to say that the manuscript is all it can be, that I have done my job?

He has it... that man, that editor, that god of the written word, the one I haven't met but who agreed to read.

He has it... in his email inbox, and I wish he didn't.

I wish I had…

We ride good horses.

They might not shine in the arena at Cattlemen's Weekend or win an award chasing a yearling around in a ranch horse competition or plow the ground in a sliding stop with judges giving points for shine.

But they are perfect for what we do, putting in hard days in dense brush and unforgiving rock, moving cattle, branding calves, packing 50 pound salt blocks up steep hills in rolling malpai, standing hobbled in the hot sun, dozing while we tie…

Walking through a maze of brick walls in the dark, or maybe I am just blindfolded.

Bumping my nose on the corners, slamming my face up against dead ends.

You can't hear me and I can't speak so that you can.

I offer speeches meant to create windows, but instead my head makes a sound like a melon when you turn your face away or pass the phone to Mom.

You gave me away on my wedding day, and sometimes I…

As most of you know, the wild and precious and natural and birds and foxes and lizards and evening glow before the bats are components of my real world, the place of thrive and thrill and live and love.

I like dirt, water, trees, little insulation...and whiskey on the couch.

I do not like asphalt, pavement, concrete, stores, advertisements, fast food, busy-ness, shopping for clothes, and high fructose corn syrup.

I like sleeping naked, growing…

She is really very good at it, very good at keeping everyone in line, very good at being the ramrod, good at moving, shaking, organizing, buying, creating a life of clean lines and the right napkins.

She makes a short to-do list each morning for everyone in the household, and though I am a guest of sorts, I got mine, too, verbal and delivered under the thin veil of suggestion, but after all, there are two luncheons this week and a party, so everyone needs to pitch in and make…

I came with a strident voice, eager to make my mark and yet, not make any mark, as only someone who has been homeless understands.

I came here with a whisper, hoping that if I didn't make any noise, they'd let me stay.

I came here with indifference, saying who cares and so what and oh that's nice, wrapping my passion for life, my natural exhuberance under a film of having lost too much, craters in my very soul and self.

I came here with longing in…