A familiar scenario.
First coffee history.
Second half gone.
I have a fridge full of freshly cut up watermelon & pineapple; bowls of grapes, blueberries, and strawberries…and here I sit. Snug as a bug with my coffee and fruit (disguised as the bowl of leftover Ghoul Goodies no thanks to the ever lurking Señor SnacKattacK…the shadowy shit!)
Apparently I’d transformed into a chainsaw of human proportions while I lounged on the couch after the delish Cuban meal I’d prepared for hubby’s birthday, for which he thanked me by shaking my ass awake (for my own safety naturally) sometime around 1 a.m. to go to bed.
Humph…you’d think after 35 years he’d know enough to let a sleeping chainsaw lie!
No matter the length of the doze…once she’s reached the critical brum – brum – brum – brrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
Leave her alone!
Let her saw the damned wood!
Let her clear the freakin’ forest!
‘Cause…You wake her?
She. Is. Done!!!
For someone who hasn’t posted much in the last year, it’s surprising how much blogging has been on my mind lately. Do I miss it? Sure. Is it the writing I miss or the connections. Both. In equal measure.
So I suppose that’s why, at the now current hour of 4 a.m., I’m scribbling nonsense on a white screen, in a dark room, to restless readers, and faithful friends…in an attempt to re-ignite the engine.
Not the chainsaw one (no matter how much I’d like to sleep) but the writing one.
The only way back, as I see it, is to do it…and keep doing it…until the engine purrs once more.
Or ’til the gas runs out.
Then I’ll get more gas.
The more I wread what writers write – the more I wrealize why writers write – when writers write – while writing what’s wright – or writing what’s wrong – writing is writing-that’s wright – write?