I have been writing wonderful blog entries in my head, lucky or unlucky for you my head does not seem to be attached to my typing fingers.

The first book is dead. The first book with which I spent three years on and countless hours with Carolyn Forche’ has died. I figure it’s a lot like my first marriage. It taught me a great deal, it’s the foundation on what most else is built and it’s a little cracked. I have taken the best parts, my months on syntax and I have moved on.

I am on continuous journey with language. I love this language like I love nothing. If I believe humans have a soul, my soul would be word. I tried to make it be color. I tried to make it be love but it has always come back to language.

I am toying with the idea of applying for a fellowship at the MacDowell Colony, of leaving the girls for a month and just writing. If you don’t have kids, you have no idea how like jumping out of a building this feels. At Olivia’s conference when asked what she thought my goals were for her, she said “my mom just wants me to be happy and not grow up and be a serial killer” which sums it up really.

In the beginning I made organic baby food for this kid and taught her how to swim laps before the age of three. I stayed with a man I did not love for ten years thinking her psyche would be forever damage if I did not. I’ve grown up a lot and so has she. But all I really want for the girls, is to know themselves and like themselves--even the serial killer is optional;)