Red Room Where the Writers Are

I live in a bubble of my own creation. It is for the most part a peaceful, quiet, happy place filled with wonderful and inspiring people. It is impervious to golf. And to drama.

It was some two years ago, when people hadn't realized that I am not the publicity-happy gal anymore.

I received a phone call from some lady. And it went like this:

In his second trip to Brazil in the 16th century, German soldier and mariner Hans Staden was held captive by the Tupinambá tribe.

I've written before about people who don't leave our lives, the ones that stick.  The old friends, former students, girl  scout leaders from the past.  I turn around, and there is the now elderl

I am not too sure what friends really mean...I think a passing smile, a fraction of a glance, a polite voice over the phone by strangers is less cumbersome to deal with.

It seems weird writing here after all those blogs i had. I came here in hope to find something new, something that suits me better, meet new people who write too, - write not just to be re