I am in love with my pen and the words it writes. I write because I see. I write what I see, so I must love my eyes as well. I once thought of the well of inspiration as a body of water whose dam was never meant to hold it back. Rather, it is the discipline to control the flow lest it flood and be spent. Writers need more than imagination; they need life experience. Without knowing how life flows, and that one cannot merely dangle their toes in the stream, but swim in the current, imagination has no fuel to flourish. I write because I love people, I love history and I love language. The three are inseparable and no successful writing is accomplished without paying dues to all three. As long as I stay in the flow, the pen will stay in my hand.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Deamwalker by Richard Cheney [fiction]

Icarus Huxley limits his psychiatric practice to leave him time to manage another: he is a ghost shrink, treating the lost and homeless of the dead who do not know how to go where they are going. He has mentors, spirits that have been his guides, teachers and companions since he has had memory of a memory. Once their reality became a matter of fact, fear of them has become as inconsequencial as the traditional fear of the dark. But all creatures know fear. All realms of existence know fear. Now, he must find a woman still living, but her whereabouts are not as urgently hidden as her whenabouts. An FBI agent turns to Huxley to help find the wife of a hollywood producer who has just encountered a fantasy he has never conceived in film: the transport of her body through time. The nature of his wife's disappearance introduces him to a fact known to Huxley: his is a household name only among the dead, for whom time is merely a memory.

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