Sahara Sanders

When I was a schoolgirl my safe haven was a place at the uninhabited part of my parents_ house. I used to climb up to the large windowsill that was facing a spreading plum-tree in the garden. Reading books, or penning my own stories, diaries and poems, it was especially fun to rest there during the warmer seasons of the year with an open window, when the tree was all covered with tender, odorous blossom in spring, and with rich purple fruitage in summer.

The closest to my heart is not just one book - it__ the whole series of novels, Indigo Diaries. The first volume, __ods_ Food,_ is already available in English.

Lately, I usually write at the desk in my living-room or bedroom. From time to time, our red and stripy cat named Foxy decides to be my companion, poking his curious caramel-colored nose to the screen, watching me typing, and making attempts to put his paws on the keyboard despite the fact that he knows he is not allowed to; he also loves to arrange __unbathing sessions for himself, purring joyfully while lying with his belly up under the lamp placed to the left of my computer; and, of course, the cat can__ wait for when I happen to have a snack, to beg for some treats that seem to him tastiest if eaten from a caring human__ hand.

With so many book projects filling mind and heart, it feels similar to pregnancy. Your own books are like your children__ou have to give birth to them, raise them, and do your best to make sure they live happily. You know, you just HAVE TO put into writing all of those thoughts, words and ideas appearing and growing in your head. Otherwise, life will make no sense without it.

Like most people on the planet I have experienced moments when a friend__, or just a stranger__, warm cheering up was like a gulp of oxygen essential for survival.

Generate happy moments. . . make miracles happen. Love is a miracle too.

Human communication and literature are all made of words; thus, it__ hard to overestimate their unbelievable power.

If some mystical occurrences happen to us, don__ we __ormally_ and fearfully prefer to call them strange coincidences? Or try to persuade ourselves it was only an indication of our overactive imagination? Aren__ we __ormally_ closing our eyes and ears, refusing to face the truth?

What do we actually consider to be __ormal?" It__ only about what our conventional mentality is or isn__ able to understand, and agree to accept as __eal.__n fact, the shadowy edge between normal and paranormal is more than ILLUSORY_ The exact same can be stated about the border between calling your novel non-fiction or fiction.What if you could close your eyes and see different worlds and planets? What if you could see them with some kind of different vision, even with your eyes open? Would that make you a paranoid_ a freak, a genius, a crazy? Or, maybe, an Indigo, if that__ what__ been happening to you since you can remember? If something unusual is what you really see and really feel, and if that__ what does happen to you in your real life, how is THAT called FICTION? One simple reason... that it__ the only way the society would agree to call it __ormal,_ based on the current level of development of their mentality.

Atheism and traditional institutions of the Church are the polar sides of the same marasmus: either of them is badly lacking the truth.

Since I can remember, for some reason, I was always __ot like others,_ and it was presented by everyone like there was something wrong with me; only becoming more grown up and mature, I realized that to be special and different from the crowd is my biggest value and happiness.

Many of us humans have a hard time with understanding one simple truth: the surest way to get love is to start giving love to others. Often, when we desperately need some companionship, understanding and warmth from those who are around us, we chose to blame, shout, criticize, accuse, insult and set ultimatums. But in reply, we only encounter with cold walls of estrangement which was diligently built by our own efforts, farcical walls and fences.