by Gabrielle Idso The cottage perched on the cliff edge like a barnacle. Its walls were a mosaic of shells that caught the morning light and threw it back in a thousand minuscule rainbows. From deep within the walls, a lullaby drifted from a moonshell. The notes were soft and familiar….
by Perle Besserman First: What I love most about writing is being visited by characters who invite themselves onto the stage of my mind (or heart, or imagination, or dream life, or whatever you choose to call that place that is no actual “place” but is more real than the…
