I write because…

How well I could write if I were not here by Esther G on Flickr

I write because when I write blood runs on to the page and forms rivulets that merge into an ocean. A sea – a jumble of words with all their twists, turns, curves and corners.

Words that sit together comfortably like old grandmothers. Words that curl around each other, scaly like lizards’ tails. Words that talk, words that sing. Threads like guitar strings, each a unique note that resonates on the page.

I write because I need to, because my heart beats louder when I think about it.
I write because writing is my romance, the love affair I have been engaged in since childhood.
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Let it Flow

What I call ‘Stream of Consciousness’, also known as ‘Automatic Writing’, is when you write non-stop for a given period of time.

The idea is to literally write each idea as it comes into your head, not stopping to alter or control anything that comes onto the page.

For me, the results are often extraordinary. By switching off my normal analytical, critical mind, I open up a channel through which the creative mind can express itself.
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She waited

Waiting
She waited.
As one can only do when one is alone and quiet.
Waited for a story to come,
for the last shrill tear of the seagull’s call.
Waited for the final shred of warmth
from the autumn sun’s rays.

In the silent, stirring, yearning depths of herself
an unheard song like a hushed whisper
called for some magic to weave itself into a spell
that danced on the page.

She felt nourished by tales of wizards
chased by shadows
and turning to hunt the darkness
with a staff bleached in light.

And she longed to tell a tale
not unlike those she poured over;
thinking that maybe in that
lay the quenching
of her soul’s thirst.