Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave,
but not our hearts.

~Oliver Wendell Holmes~

Welcome to "A Writer's Dream". Please come in and make yourself at home...

I do not know where it is from, that I draw these words of eloquence and quiet wisdom. They seem to pool within a silent chamber, deep within the recesses of my being. To write is not a willfull endeavor on my part, but rather more likened to opening the chamber door, and allowing the thoughts that flooded there to rush out and spill upon my parchment. It is always with a reverent anticipation that I take pen in hand, never sure of the beast that I am about to unleash. Sometimes, it is but humble truths, spoken in soft tones for quiet ears. Other times, it is seductive... enticing... teasing one's mind into believing the body is a willing participant. Often, however, it is merely reflective of that which has so touched me in some way. Those instances which have impassioned me are more often than not, the reason I am forced to write... not invited. It is a force that drives me to complete and utter focus, until there is nothing left to do, but to give in to it's overwhelming control... and it's desperate cries. It is these cries... the voices of a thousand memories of what has been, and what shall be ...that call to me from that silent chamber, and beg for their release. It is for this reason, that I write.