What I remember of France is the art, the je ne sais quoi attitude of their everyday life,
the food, the wine and a million other typical lifestyle practices. But what I love the most
is its hasard heureux streets. Turn here, turn there, and you’ll bound to find hidden treasures of all sorts. Architecture and design stem from the colour and the passion within them. From bold brights to the soft and sweet pastels of the mediterranean. It melts my heart everytime I recollect…
Took off in a blaze of ideas and didn’t come back till I was soaked and stained with proof. Information loaded my brain and I knew that once I sit down to write, life will bloom.
The characters will write for themselves and I’ll just be the instrument. No longer the researcher, but the informer of their exploits. Writing is a strange act. Life is a strange game. But somebody has to talk about it.
Freedom Writers write for the trapped. Myself especially. Words make me think,
words free me from congestion. Words wade in advancement. Words make me into
a woman that I want to be. Do words free you from regression and spiritual death?
My spirits lift high into the sky like the highest building made to stand tall.
Put ink to paper and you’ll see what I mean.