Red Room Where the Writers Are

I should be writing my blog story, but its too late to press play on the universal story teller living in the back of my head.

(http://peacefulmeans.blogspot.com)

“If you trust in Nature, in what is simple in nature, in the small things that hardly anyone sees and that can so suddenly become huge, immeasurable; if you have this love for what is

It was 1978 in the San Francisco suburbs, and I was an aspiring Chekovian. I was an actress, and I wore black, and I suffered, suffered, suffered.