“I’m not sure this is possible,” she says to me in a not altogether nice way. In fact, she’s rather blunt.
“Pleeese?” I plead. “I heard that you’re the best. I wasn’t even sure how to find you. I Googled first, of course, but no answer appeared about how to locate someone with your skills.”
She rolls her large, turquoise eyes. Continue reading
Wight Muse by Mike Allegra.
Our name is Pamela Wight, but only she is a middle-aged woman.
She isn’t always middle-aged, and she isn’t always a woman.
At this point though, her Earth self is unable to comprehend the truth. But once, long ago and yet still now (on the time spectrum that surrounds us, even though most refuse to see it), she and I are one on an enchanted island of being. Continue reading
roughwighting 