That’s what I want today’s writing to be. I want to have the power of inspiration surge through my veins and flow out of the tips of my fingers on to the page forming all the right words. I want the perfect words. . . words that transform.
I want my words to crack worlds wide open.
I want to be reading you while you read me.
I, also want to be Queen of the World and Master of the Universe with a diamond-studded crown, moon boots and a jet pack.
I have a fabulous set of beautiful blue boots that will do the trick. As for the crown, jet pack and fancy titles. . .I doubt I’ll see those this side of heaven. I’m hoping that when I am welcomed into paradise, I’ll be met with the crown and jet pack in lieu of wings and a halo. If I am to be granted the gift of flight, I wish for the conveyance to be my much desired jet pack. Thanks Lost in Space for planting the “jet pack envy” in childhood.
“Go, Don. Judy needs you!”
So instead of words of transformation, I’m lost in space, the space between my ears. Thoughts flip and skip around like fleas in a hot skillet. Life was a lot simpler when I believed that Lost in Space was well written.
Thank God that times and people change but then again. . .
I’m back working part-time in a local high school. The Freshman English class is working on the 55-word story assignment. I love this assignment.
Since I’m really tired tonight and an economy of words seem like a wise choice, I’m going to share my 55-word story and some links to web site that can provide you with more 55-word stories, etc. Enjoy!
Cheyenne looks down at her lifeless body on the cold, wet sand. Alec sits hunched over her. Tears stream down his face.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs.
Cheyenne says softly, “But you did.”
He doesn’t hear her. In the distance sirens howl. The world fades to black. Darkness covers everything.”
There are so many choices on the topic buffet today that I’m tempted to walk away without satisfying my appetite. Pieces of sentences litter the floor around my feet. I can’t seem to pick up enough of the right words to make much sense. Some days are like this. It may be best not to try to write but the discipline of frequent writing helps define me.
Writing gives me boundaries. It lets me know where I end and where the world begins. It helps explain who I am. It provides a structure and organization that I can apply to the chaos which is me.
I leave behind me bit and pieces of entries. I begin them and then get lost in the words. Words that go no where. These words form a dam. Thoughts collect behind the dam like so much flotsam. I look down at the mess. It all looks like garbage.
These two words circled around my brain as I dressed this morning. They were loud and insistent. Irritated, I tried to brush them aside as manifestations of my normal morning insanity. They would not be dismissed.
Reluctantly, I stopped pulling on my socks and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Alright. You win. What are you trying to tell me?”
I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.