Write. Now.

My soul has thick bangs, coke-bottle glasses and a plastic black mustache.  It flies under the radar and over the rainbow to give us wallflowers a good name.

I am an observer.  I am the last to raise my hand.  I hear between the lines.


I cannot ignore this pull to pen and paper, this process that owns me.  These jots on scraps that swirl about my head like Pig Pen’s dust cloud.

Word puzzles that show this Quiet Girl that her voice can be bold.

Now is not a convenient time to declare myself a writer.  I’ve nearly perfected my disguise.

Still, this is my time to write.


4 thoughts on “Write. Now.

  1. There are lots of folks writing out there. Most are like me, mildly talented and stubborn to keep trying. You – are the rare Other. I will snatch up every letter you lay down. I beg you to make time and space to write. And, please… let some of it be here for me to read.

    • Oh Kim, this is uncharted territory for me. I have no idea what I’m doing and your encouragement spurs me on to practice more. I hope you continue to enjoy my little blog.

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