I almost died when I was born. The doctors told my mother it was certain.

"She's not going to live," they said, "but if she does -- by some strange miracle -- make it through, her brain will be severely damaged."

At least, this is what the experienced doctors said.

It was a young physician who told my mother, "Your daughter will not die. Her brain will not be damaged. She's a fighter. She wants to live. In fact, you'd better watch out because that little girl is determined."

Leave it to a fresh, untainted eye to know life at first sight.

I suppose my entrance into this world was good preparation for a life as writer. In order to stay true to the writing life, you must be a fighter.

Mostly editors reject your stories. Mostly agents snub their noses at your ideas. Mostly readers pass by your book as it sits sandwiched between the millions of other titles on the shelves. Mostly viewers are too distracted to truly see.

Occasionally, however, somebody finds my work and likes it. She likes it! He likes it!

When I meet these people, I am delighted. It seems a serendipitous occassion. It is these people that keep me going.

These people and the fact that if I stop creating the part of me that makes me me dies.

Seeking truth and striving to put that truth into words and images is as natural to me as breath.