In the wee hours of the morning, or the lazy crest of a warm afternoon, the body wants to rest . . . needs rest . . . and yet all too often the mind is racing round the next curve, headed for who knows where. For a writer, for better or for worse, the energy ends in paragraph upon paragraph of prose, poetry, or indeed the occasional story. I will add stories as I have the time. I will include stories in this section both by me and by Ray Brock, a good friend of mine who shares this malady—the need to create or die—and will post warnings on any that contain mature themes.
TJ and her human
