Friday, August 12, 2005


Not necessarily THAT kind of passion.

I'm thinking about the kind of passion that makes it a joy for you to get out of bed in the morning - or even difficult for you to go to bed at night. You're so "into" what you're doing that time means nothing to you. You become your passion.

I find that when I'm writing and the words seem to be coming from the "girls in the attic" (paraphrasing Stephen King and Jennie Crusie - now there's a duo!), I become my passion. The Girls in the Attic play dress-up with my imagination. They try on different costumes - different hats - different personas - even different genders. And then they prance around through my psyche, making up stories that go on and on . . .

And then The Girls make me write those stories down. It could be Elizabeth Peacock who's best friend owns a funeral home and lends Elizabeth an old hearse. It could be Ruby Kincaide who, at the age of 45, finds herself hopelessly enamored of her much younger pastor. Sometimes it's a Lenape woman who had been left to die as a babe - left along the side of a frozen river and rescued by a female wolf.

Sometimes The Girl in the Attic is Mitzi - Mitzi writing the circuitous journey of her own life as I do on this blog or on

My Passion is Writing . . . and Her sister, Reading.

I'm happiest sitting at my computer, Murray lying behind me on the big wrap aorund desk, purring in my ear.
I'm happiest sitting curled up on my sofa with Huusker nestled next to me and a good book in my hands.

I have found my passion.


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