She writes of my life, an existence born from ink and paper. My destiny bound to the mercy of the wind carried by her pen.
She is my artist, unveiling layers of fictitious flesh and blood. The chisel must be wielded with care, or the image so clearly defined within will disappear forever.
I wait, breathless as the next inkling of who I am to be revealed. My richness is hers and only hers to define…an immense task I am sure.
She writes of my burden, my guilt and sorrow, but hers is the burden of creation. The weight of molding an entire lifetime upon empty pages.
She writes of my pain and joy, but I sense her fear. Will too much of herself be revealed? The shroud hiding her deepest hopes and fears pulled back for all to see.
I am anxious for my journey to unfold for I am now real…begging to be written for all to see.
Susan Cunningham, Author of the Beyond the Hidden Realm Fantasy Series