I spend most of my time writing.

Here I am, where I ought to be. A writer must have a place where he or she feels this, the place to love and be irritated with.

Freedom, I found is not only in the running but in the heart, the mind, the hands.

This so gnawed at him on some nights that he lay awake wondering just how many unknown and similarly inconsequential accidents and bits of happenstance were at this moment occurring or failing to occur in order to ensure he took his next breath, and the next.

I stood there in the shadowed doorway thinking with my tears. Yes, tears can be thoughts, why not?

But then as time passed, I learned the lesson that parents do early on. You fail sometimes. No matter how much you love your children, there are times you slip. There are moments you can't give, stutter, lose your temper, or simply lose face with the world, and you can't explain this to a child.

I thought how we might have to yell to be heard by Higher Power, but that's not saying it's not there. And that is faith for you. It's belief even when the gods don't deliver.