Evelyn Parrish

About me:

A many fasceted jewel refracting light and if you look at just the right angle, a straight line of darkness. I write. I weave words and ideas, a tapestry of reality and dream. Is this not the point? Every writer has a secret and it is that they believe there is a point. Perhaps, each is different or differing in the skins they wear, the muscles that layer a fleshy cage. But the skelleton is the same, the bones on which each story rests work and move the very same. I have endevoured to pour a sense of "alternate" into the weavings, into the tapestry, and into the fabric of these pretty tales. Alternate reality, alternate ending or beggining, alternate to the too bright day that begs to be broken into half. One half needs its other to funtion, it needs a night as black as pitch - if only fracturing itself to break the monotony of its turning. Poetry may surface now and again, but it is a precursor to a life lived soley for this purpose, and it is a small remnent of 'self' that I keep. The other things, nameless things that shift uneasy and anxious in the dark; pretty little pets - preturbed little tales...these are for you, dear reader. They are all for you.