Lying in my bed, don’t know what to do, I told my Best friend all about you. It’s quarter past twelve, I can’t get no sleep, I can almost hear, my heart beat so deep.

I’m talking to God, telling him how I feel, I’m sure he knows I’m about to appeal. I’m sure he sees what’s inside my heart, So who am I really trying to outsmart?

They say my Mama knows what’s best, Cause mothers are the truly blessed. They say my future has been planned, Without permission from my inner man.

I remember that day we were laughing so hard, Sitting on the floor with no thoughts to discard. Living in the moment, unaware of this world, Just conscious of the love we pump outward.

Read these beautiful three poems dedicated to children, taken from the collection of “Short Poems By Lumiere”. The first poem is titled “Dysfunctional Families”, the second poem is titled “No Better Feeling”, and the third poem for children is titled “Guilty by Default”.

Kai Strand is a middle grade and young adult author. She lives in Central Oregon with her husband and children. They love to hike and geocache.

On this day, when reminiscing about the tragedy of September 11, 2001, my emotions are once again awakened. I was moved while watching original footage of the attacks on the television. It would be impossible to fathom what thoughts, fears, prayers, bravery, and sheer determination that occurred in the minds of the passengers. During the moments, beginning from an initial onslaught of terrorism to the ultimate loss of life, American citizens were realizing their fate as the events transpired, ending in an instant upon impact.

Ernest Hemingway said, “The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof shit-detector. This is the writer’s radar and all great writers have had it.” By this Hemingway signalled the vital importance of honesty and truth in creative writing- and these two are not easily found, least of all by the writer in the very act of writing.

For years, the only time I read poetry was when it was assigned in a class. Then I’d read it, knowing I wouldn’t understand it, and, with an expression on my face as if I had just bit into a lemon, I would prove myself correct. I didn’t get it. What delineates a good poem from a not-so-good poem? How is one to know what to write about? Do poems always have to rhyme? What is a haiku, a limerick (besides the adult versions you’d hear in a pub), and why bother writing, or reading, poetry at all?

So many things have changed over the years. So many times I have looked in the mirror-my reflection staring back at me. Those dark brown eyes that aren’t light enough. Or big enough or slanted enough.

Writers, and creative thinkers in general, can easily get lost in their thoughts. These mind-wanderings are requirements of our creativity. But every now and then we need to live in the world we write about.

Every person consists of several layers, starting with the thin veneer you see on the surface, then tooling down deeper and deeper to the core which remains hidden to many. But a novelist’s task is to penetrate these layers. This must be one of the most enjoyable challenges in fiction writing: building up a character in layers, through what they say of themselves, what others say of them, through their actions and words, through thoughts, hopes and dreams, through references to former events and relationships. And the task which is most difficult and testing yet carries the most excitement is knowing what to reveal, how much and when. The fiction writer uses real life as a springboard, and then plunges into the water, passing through the shallows, into the depths of character creation.