When I was a child, the blue sky above my grandparents' house, at the edge of the southern California desert east of Los Angeles, was my favorite color in the whole world: a bright turquoise, so brilliant it almost hurt to look at it. Every time I think of writing, of putting my thoughts on paper or in electronic format, I remember that sky, and the house where I saw it, where I first began to become a writer.
No comments:
Post a Comment