I believe in stories. Stories that live and breathe. Stories that are fruitful and multiply. That
create stories within stories. Bring into being stories of my own. I want stories that provoke
a powerful response be it tears, laughter, or thought. I desire a story to have a gravity of its
own. If it’s not worth telling more than once, it’s not worth telling. It should continue to
pull me back again and again . . .
* * *
I believe that music is a force that stands and beckons the souls of humans to step out of
their secret places. I have seen the power of a guitar’s voice as it draws out the souls of
strangers in a crowd from under their superficiality and holds them spellbound as one. I
have felt an overwhelming sense of unity fall over a huge crowd of people when the
insightful artist reveals his sorrow, his frustration, or his overwhelming joy with a melody.
I believe in closed eyes and dim lighting, in tapping feet, concert halls, and heads carried up
and down by the rolling swells of a melody. . .
* * *
I believe in the wisdom of the ages. My happiest place was sitting on my grandmother’s
counter, while she was cooking, trying to memorize her cornbread recipe. I would sit on her
powder blue carpet and run my fingers over the hand stitches of her many old quilts, while
the colored glass humming bird feeders on her porch made patches of purple and green
move slowly around her living room. Her wisdom slipped by so many, but I drank it in like
sunlight. . .