Monday, March 9, 2020
Welcome: Writing Safe Place
Welcome! I decided to start a safe, non-judgmental Blog for writers and their writing. It is my hopes to get feedback and give feedback from my writing to your writing. I'm making a commitment to write everyday, even if it's silly, and hopefully write a best-selling novel or children's book. Stay tuned 39 never looked so promising!
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In the depths of despair and the wallows of self-woe there are moments when you take a breath and realize you have wandered far from home. How did you get here? Where is this here that your mind desperately wants to identify, classify, illustrate onto a map. Yet in the darkness your other senses are heightened since you can no longer see. You hear a soft rustling of something small and so near that your hair bristles. Solitude is an unwanted companion when you catch a whiff of stale breath and ponder from whence it was uttered. More importantly from whom was it uttered? The cool dampness of the air snuggles in on your bare arms reminding you of the jacket which floated away on the wind as you ran not once looking back. Then your mind deviously troubles you with remembrances of plump strawberries and dollops of fresh cream. You find yourself patting your pocket yet your fingers tell a sad tale of not even a crumble within. The damp air is no match for your damp cheeks, it seems these tears have been your truest friends today, never once abandoning you. Sliding your back down what your conscious tells you must be an old haggard tree you feel an object under bottom and the feel of it tells you it does not belong here. A slight ray of hope appears at the thought of a curious distraction and as you fumble it forward to inspect it a strange recollection rings through your soul. This object is known to you and as you run your fingers in a continuous pattern from end to end it occurs to you that you’re not the first to linger in these hallows and you must decide if you will be the last.
ReplyDeleteLove the stream of consciousness throughout this piece. Hunger continues as fingers come back empty. Similar to the soul. Love this! So complex.
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