Why An Artist Needs Powerful Friends
Who will stand by your side when the witch hunts begin?
I used to want to be a preacher’s wife.
In my fantasy we’d live outside a small southern town on a plot of land buried in a deep forest. My husband would be tall and thin, but not too thin, and have the kind of handsome face that would look good on Mt. Rushmore. He’d spend his days writing sermons, attending to the…