This is the true story of my life: The tragic loss of loved ones and the heart-wrenching grief; the magic of faerie-like beings showing up in my clay, on my pages, and in my home – which they did very much to my dismay, at least at first.
This is a story of magic and altering time and dogs that fly and people who died and beings who introduced themselves as faeries… and this is a story of pottery.
It's about smashed fingers, smashed dreams, smashed faeries and the value of throwing up your arms and saying "whatever."
It's about impossible things being possible and Rolling Stones playing on unplugged radios.
It's about walking through walls and it's about faerie sex; a chapter, by the way, that nearly stopped me in my writing tracks.
And now, the faeries insist on blowing themselves up.
This is the story that blurs your boundaries between reality and fantasy and leaves you wishing you could find your way into my world, albeit without the tragedies.
As you can imagine, this has not been a simple story to write. Hell, if it were fantasy it would have been easy… but this is my life.
This is a story of magic and altering time and dogs that fly and people who died and beings who introduced themselves as faeries… and this is a story of pottery.
It's about smashed fingers, smashed dreams, smashed faeries and the value of throwing up your arms and saying "whatever."
It's about impossible things being possible and Rolling Stones playing on unplugged radios.
It's about walking through walls and it's about faerie sex; a chapter, by the way, that nearly stopped me in my writing tracks.
And now, the faeries insist on blowing themselves up.
This is the story that blurs your boundaries between reality and fantasy and leaves you wishing you could find your way into my world, albeit without the tragedies.
As you can imagine, this has not been a simple story to write. Hell, if it were fantasy it would have been easy… but this is my life.
