The morning wore a yellow gown as the sun rose slowly over the
Mediterranean. The sunlight glistened skipping across the surface of
the water wonderingly and wanton looking for a place to set. Donís
eyes drifted across the picturesque place and the feeling of sleep left
his face. This was another phase in his dreams where he would
journey with Miles by his side to a new world for them, this old world
called to him. The questions lingered about the unknown: Did Miles
believe in ghosts and drifting spirits? Could a childhood game of finding
random words in a book warn them of terrible events to come?
Dear Christina: It was good to hear from you and to learn of your productivity. Your story is full of action and passion, and sounds like something that would fascinate readers. Iím flattered by your view of me and my work.
Poetry is partly inspiration, but mostly, in my approach, careful honing. Itís a craft, as much as an art.
My various professional commitments, including being vice-president of the IWWG have kept me away from my own writing. Iím old enough to be concerned with completing my own writing projects in my lifetime.
I do wish I could oblige you, but must tell you honestly that Iím sorry I canít. I do advise you to keep writing--you have an interesting story to tell.
With best wishes for your work and your life, D. H.