From the Desk of Idabel Allen
Here I am. Writing for you.
It may come as a surprise, but not to me. I’ve been writing for you for twenty-plus years. You just never knew until this very moment.
Let me explain.
After work and supper and dishes and ball practice and bath and bedtime stories, I wrote. Turning my attention from the outer-world to that inner one that can feel just as real in many ways. I’ve crafted entire towns, flowing rivers, dirt roads and a dying planet. Created sons and daughters and punks and patriarchs. Children, dogs, and even a few redemption-seeking revenants. Dealt out unbearable pain, guilt and shame like some slick-haired poker dealer at a high stakes table.