I was woken up last night by the wind pounding against the side of my house, instinctively my mind goes to the siding. They wind has knocked it off before and I really hope it doesn’t do it again, the only way we can afford to fix it is by pounding nails through it and it hasn’t gotten above 20 degrees in days. I don’t want to go outside and try to do that. So instead I pull the comforter around me and listen, I listen for the pounding of aluminum sheeting against wood. But I only get the howl of the wind, the shake of the windows, and the occasional snore from sleeping bodies in my home.
All seems well, so I return to sleep, the sound of the wind turning my dreams into grand adventures involving monsters and battles and who knows what other stories that lurk underneath the pretty underpinning of my subconscious.
I wake this morning and the wind is still there, the howl still raging and the news promises more snow. And probably not this kind of snow..
This kind of snow…
I wish I could go back to sleep, but I can’t I have editing work to do, and a job I have to try to be on time to today. It all seems so monotonous when there is a creature of black with no name that is lurking in a corner of my mind, begging me to put his story onto paper. He howls for it, and you know what I will. Because if I don’t let that monster out, people will never know his story and that is a shame.
It all started with a birthday present: a little book I wrote for my grandfather, helped along by a little bit of performing experience and a whole lot of love. It has since evolved. Get to know the woman behind the words. 
