"Every secret of a writer's soul,
every experience of his life,
every quality of his mind,
is written large in his works."
Virginia Woolf
Writing and reading have been companions of mine since early childhood. I can recall holding a child's picture book on my lap while watching others trim the family tree. A notebook was always near, waiting for me to unskillfully draw symbols of emotions which I could not share out loud.
The branch library card was my proudest possession. It was a magical key into imagination and creativity. I constantly observed others, using body language as a measuring stick of how different others were from me. Praises from the librarians who supported my obsession guided me to enhanced authors and love for humanity.
At the end of eighth grade, I had completed two novels and in high school I was focused on dark poetry. College released me into vast spaces of exploration and challenge of my skill. Then the work of Gibran, Hafiz, and Rumi healed my wounds. I reinvented myself by heavily editing material wounding my soul. My best offerings have not been the beginning nor the ending, but the unfolding of the story in between. It is in the middle where my voice is heard and my soul seen.
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