I stopped writing when my father died. I was numb, an actor stuck in a horrible play and while my world slow-motion shattered the world went on. It was just another Tuesday after-all.
I sat there knowing he needed a lung, knowing my words world helpless as the single most important thing I love slipped in front of me. And I realized how meaningless my words were. Air, vapors dancing around the world but never touching flesh.
And now, I sit after a night of crying, watching a man who has admitted to sexually assaulting women, who is racist, who is anti-gay, who is xenophobic, a man who wants to commit war crimes and jail his political opponents ascend to the highest position in our country.
And I realize my words are needed again.
Mark my words there are plenty of people in the United State who will not sit quietly by as our friends and family and freedoms suffer.