As a girl, I used to zip myself into a snowsuit, fall into the deepest snowdrift I could find and sweep my arms and legs into the powder, making snow angels that would crumble within minutes of their genesis. Despite their rapid disappearance, something about these frozen, evanescent angels has stayed with me ever since.

One is but a shade of the other.

Beautiful music plays, but not everyone with ears can hear it.

If I'm not writing, I'm not fully living. It has become the essential element that defines who I am.

Maybe that is what marriage is: Two people creating a cult together.

Finding one's voice - or creating a narrative voice that has the power to carry your story - is the hardest part.

I understood that the stories we believe have power over us. They work into our bodies and minds and change us from inside out. What if one day these stories become something stronger, more real, than fairy tales?