As February rounds the bend, I’m surprised at how eager I am for spring. To me, there really hasn’t been a winter. As I say that, I’m projecting pleading eyes upon the screens of everyone who is tasting brittle cold at this moment. Forgive me. I’ve become a west coaster. Embrace it. I have.
By the way, there was no response thus far on the previous post. Curiously though, in the most recent hockey game between Vancouver and Nashville, while two players had a fist fight, Mr. Garrett said they were a good matchup. I found this a bit outrageous but that is another blog entry and not my main purpose here.
The idea is simple. My story is yours. Yours is mine. They all are ours. Stories make up the fabric of our lives; sharing and interweaving them is what I love. Poetry. Fiction. Letters. Or cryptic little blurbs called tweets.
There is no right or wrong here. No judgment. Or–unless you want–me chasing after you insisting, “We really MUST talk about your work.” Just recounting life. Embracing it. Feeling it. Sometimes cursing it.
Writing for what ails you. Maddens or bores you. Excites you. Makes you cry. Piques your interest. Reveals you. Makes you laugh until you almost pee yourself. Leaves you spent.
I’m game to write everything this leap year and spring. How about you?