I like to write.
I love to write.
I love the build up. I love the characters in my head. I love when it starts as an idea and then just floats around for a while. I love the fact that when it is in my head anything is possible. Anything can happen. Change is but a thought.
I love the finality that attaches itself to the story when the words hit paper. I love the diversity that reading a story brings – each see what their own imagination wills.
So much life. So much creating.
I love writing. I love the process.
But sadly, I have done nothing about it. And with each passing day, my characters lose their voice. My technique gets sloppy and I tire of trying. My inner voice drowned out by the exciting adventure that is found in the next hashtag.
I submitted to a magazine the other day, it was on a whim – not that I was interested or anything. Their non committal response crushed my silently hopeful heart. I still get the newsletter, I still open it hoping to see my name – or rather, the pseudonym.
This weekend. It will be different. This weekend we plan a shift. Even with the papal visit and the decked out streets. We will be away, working furiously at creating and molding.
This weekend, this is where we shall be.
After all, we have 5 weeks of reaping left…
*** Image source – Google