I wrote EMBERS AND ASH some years ago, or so. I don’t remember the precise day, I remember the unhappy circumstance. I needed to come home. I was unwell. Truth, I was out of my fucking mind and the only person I wanted, needed and trusted was the one who birthed me. Her ferocious, constant, capable mother-love was the only thing that was not spinning out of control. The one I
Author Page http://redroom.com/member/jacqueline-cioffa Red Room, where the writers are. And the cool cats, like moi
Start with a simple truth. The most basic. The brain dictates pen and pad. The writing spills effortlessly onto the page. A freedom feeling I have not known elsewhere. I write not to be rich, not to be famous, but because I can. I must. The breath and body cannot tell a lie.