It is 9:00. I have 45 minutes before I need to conduct a quick errand, then point the car north for the six mile ride to work. I tossed in bed early this morning, desperate for a blog post topic. Instead of ideas though, the water-torture drip of the gutter, draining from our 3:00 a.m. thunderstorm wormed its way in. Plunk, pelt, plunk, pelt. If only words would land in such a steady rhythm.
Sometimes, I when sit down, stuck, forcing myself to type, unexpected thoughts begin to drizzle, trickling at first, like the tiny brook flowing through our gutter, then flooding like a storm surge. Today, it is just this, a paragraph squeezed out like the last of the toothpaste, hardly enough to cover the brush.
This is my little contribution to Alex Cavanaugh's monthly Insecure Writers's blogfest. Click here to read more.
This is my little contribution to Alex Cavanaugh's monthly Insecure Writers's blogfest. Click here to read more.
