Every writer needs a place of power. Mine, for now, seems to be located in Sooke. Whenever I need a centering place, my muse returns and remembers the Hobbit house where we slept, the horses, the hummingbirds, the gardens, the woods, the babbling brook, the stag cresting the rise at dusk, the bonfire, the stars winking in the night sky like crystals on black velvet, C's Grandma's fabulous Welsh cakes, the red barn, and the company of writers.
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