Windswept words, barren, empty, whisked away like so many dandelion seeds. Dreams that never formed nor took flight; whimsical longings caught up to heaven on the breath of mourning. Sometimes it’s that I do not know the outcome. Sometimes it is precisely that I do. But wishes ever ride the tide of something, I always thought for me could not…
. . . and what are dreams but the smoldering desires of the subconscious? Illusive, wispy thoughts wavering in liquid silver on moonlit starry nights; sweet warm breaths of longing that tousle the hair and flutter the soul; wide yearning opening it’s delicately sensuous fingers to caress the throbbing edges of the mind.
I believe the final decision on the title is, “In the Shadow of Porter’s Hollow.” Confession–I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to this point. But, the rough draft is completed. It is novel length, over 57,000 words, and I am ready for the rewriting and editing stage. My mentor and inspiration Demi Stevens of http://yotb.press has it in her capable hands to…