I'm in love with this language. English is a conundrum, and I love its maze of fits and starts, its exceptions more than its rules, with its promises of clarity, influence, and art.  In preschool, while telling stories to my mother, she jotted them on paper, accompanied by my Crayola drawings. As a teen, I created morose, melodramatic poetry, ensuring everyone was aware of my angst. With age and, hopefully, sage, that ultimately morphed into professional writing. My muse?  Well, among other things, food and shelter, and the occasional affirmation. But writing isn't a job; it's more an addiction, yet when blessed with discipline, this solitary and methodical occupation becomes organic, which ultimately will work wonders.

from Boston,
      D.V. Malcolm