While I was writing Rosalind's Ring,
there were times when I felt so afraid
before I could write I had to pray
to make a safe place without censure
where I could allow myself the freedom
to visualize what lay ahead for my characters.
I passed months and years in that pitch darkness
groping my way a fraction at a time,
getting lost sometimes for weeks,
having to go back and begin again.
For someone of greater gifts, perhaps,
it wouldn't have been so hard,
but this was my story, and mine alone,
only I had to discover it.
Now it is done and lies complete,
as if it had always existed,
and I'd had but to write down
what I'd known.
Go, Reader, to Your ease!
May You give minutes where I spent years!
The effort means nothing to the work,
but it is everything.