I lounge in a papoose of thoughts and theories, memories and plans.
Clock ticking the seconds, I traverse a foggy trance, Bing-ing each book title or bubble idea that floats into my mind or materializes before my eyes on page and screen and journal.
To write, to muse, perchance to dream, I knit story and character and narrative into message, post, and page.
To share, to express, to move people with the shape of sentences, of phrases and warm words that caress and soothe the fevered minds of all who read and scan and connect the dots of story.
This woolgathering cocoon, this warm fuzzy embrace of impressions and study and back story, the soft sandy paths of rabbit trails and mental meanderings among a thoughtful thorny theory to puzzle and tease.
To plot and plan and mull and hang in hazy imagination and creative stupor, where the present is alive with aha moments and rife with revelations, and the future is a golden cloud of creamy paper carved by printed ink and blue-white surface etched with digitized type, where the word-beams of story find happy home through a reader’s eyes to well her tears and move her heart and catch her breath, Aha.
Laptop on bed by Pexels from Pixabay / filtered from original
Writing by hand by Free-Photos from Pixabay / filtered from original
Blanket on hammock by Pexels from Pixabay / filtered from original
Bev says
OMG. In addition to ALL the wondrous skills you master to craft or capture life in words … you are also a poet, my friend. I didn’t know. Maybe even you didn’t know. Read your own work in song and experience the beauty and tender authority. You take my breath away.
carynwrites says
You make me smile 🙂