In Which the Surfer suffers Rock Rash.

Today, suddenly, the depths of depression tried to skitter under my feet as I walked myself through the ending of the WIP. It's a contemporary fantasy YA, and I have it almost finished. I've even written and survived the first conflict of a two-wave climax.

And now, I feel like a surfer too far down the wave, with my surfboard bumping the coral on the bottom, and the fifteen foot wave looming over my head, ready to dump tons of water in an effort to grind me to smithereens. At those depths, I would ask you, my friends and fellow creators, Why? Why do we put so much of our tattered little souls out there? What drives us to create art? I have noticed that it doesn't matter if we are writing novels, filming movies, painting, drawing, dancing, singing. What compels us to create?

I would love to hear some discussion of this because I wonder myself. Why do we take a precious and somewhat private part of our soul or mind or being, and put it out for everyone else?

For Whom the Wedding Bells Toll

It was a quarter century ago that I signed my marriage certificate with my husband, Kevin. That staggers my imagination. Because inside the walls of my head, I'm still about fourteen, and just discovering the world. How could I have been married for 25 years?

They have been wonderful years. I'm so lucky to have been with Kevin H. Evans for all this time. He is kind and loving, and a great protector. He and I stand together through all the storms and trials. He is my courage and my encouragement. If not for him, I would never have dared to risk my fragile self-esteem on the whims and vagaries of critics and readers.

Many of you have never seen the plain and precious things I have seen in my husband, but only know him as "scary Kevin". That's all right, I can treasure them up in my heart and keep them for my own.

I'm ready for another quarter century as long as I get to do this trip with him at my side. I love you, Kevin.