Reading "Asher" is making me question whether or not I am truly an artist. An artist is a consumed individual. She will make everything that is not her art wait. If she were a writer, would she not forego any activity that does not directly feed her gift? The last time I remember feeling that way about my writing, it was circa 1997. Sometimes the yearning that fuels creation hibernates. Wake up sleeping soul! Pain-in-retreat, I am summoning you now to fill the white space-- not with what I know--but with what I sense to be true.