Today, like most days, I sat on my verbiage till it behaved and sank into my word doc. I have to do this or else they'll up and run off. Little scamps.
Writing has been queer as of late. Like I'm watching myself write, out of body. And most of the time I scream suggestions and orders that my robot body ignores. Hello back space key.
But what I have written has been toothsome, crunchy. Like a toast piece spread with ink. I'm not entirely convinced that it's a good thing.
Chipotle with Faith.We hummed. We pulled back and forth on our plot strings until they aligned and behaved themselves.
Faith has a mind that would make a film producer drool. Cracking Box Office records kind of mind. Her worlds are like an inside out diamond. Equally as beautiful but in a way that makes you sit up and take a second look.
I love textured writing. I love writing you can listen to and I love the color haze they leave behind in your mind. Green and wet and growing as it roots into your memories and surfaces whenever you see their creator.
I have a little girl. Such a face. Such a fearsome little face. Human but with a personality that would be better suited to tiny fangs and stomping hooves and tendrils of heat flickering out of her ears. She does not write easy. No sir. I type sweet and she changes sour. I insist here and she reaches through the screen and hammers N O T L I K E L Y. So like most of my writing I end up going their way. Such is the temperament of words.
