Where have all the stories gone?

Once upon a time, I painted pictures.  With paint.  At the same “upon a time,” I painted pictures that were a smidge different.  With words.  The painting with paint has fallen off the hobby list, and my painting with words has retrograded to 5-year-old fingerpainting.   Now I ramble and rave drunkenly along the knitted pathway of literary yarns, hoping that I skirt around the drop needle (pardon the sweater technical speak) voids titled, No One Gives a Darn.  Sadly, I believe I have planted my foot through those holes once or twice in the recent past.

The magical juice that turns my keyboard tapping into delectable spun sugar reading material has poured its last drink — for a while.  I am attempting to coax it into my writings with the promise of immortality — liquidate, baby.  What it instructs me to do, however, is stop squeezing its bottle — it will come out when it’s good and ready.  In fact, it prefers to ooze through my fingertips when I have my back turned, when I am not fully aware of what’s going.  It enjoys me enjoying myself, not agonizing over syntax.  Quite funny, actually, that I have been doing that lately, because constructing varied sentences is a natural knack I possess.  No hard thinking required.

I am looking forward to writing for writing’s sake.  I think my best work comes when I am not thinking of the reader and their opinion.  An odd reversal of logic, but I have been rapidly discovering that life is riddled with contradiction and odd reversals.  Better start getting used to it.  🙂

All this to say that you may be seeing some new works from here soon as I let the magical juice do it’s thing!

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