Regardless of the popular literary trend of the times, write the thing which lies close to your heart.

It was the first Tuesday in August. The Nebraska heat rolled in upon one like the engulfing waves of a dry sea,--a thick material substance against which one seemed to push when moving about.

In 1846 the prairie town of Oak River existed only in a settler's dream.

Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart... filled it, too, with melody that would last forever.

You could not stop the winds and you could not stop Time. It went on and on,-and on.

If I'm writing for a particular artist, I definitely think about their past records, pay attention to the type of tempos that they like. If I have the privilege of actually being in the session with the artist, I just like to have a conversation with them.