Where It All Happens

Wendy was trying to guess what I was going to write about this evening. Work? Gardening? Wedding? These seem natural topics, but no - I defy. This evening is about writing.

She forgets that once upon a time I was a (ah ha - Wendy spotted a missing "a"!) single young man with a lot of angst. During those days, I used to fill up journals with all kinds of anxieties and ambitions and hopes and fears and all the little peccadilloes that surrounded my travels. Because travel I did as a consultant. Now, I am a bit more grounded and "normal", worrying about keeping a house going and not getting fired at work.

But I am distracted. What I was really thinking about was sitting down at the old computer to do some writing. Good, old-fashioned, unadulterated writing. Feet on the desk kind of writing where the thoughts spill all over the screen, and all one needs to do is mop them up into short story or poem. Sometimes, I get these moments, but not as often as in those bachelor days. You see, I am contented by a beautiful young woman who is keeping me busy with wedding plans. And gardening (yay - Wendy's contribution to this entry!).

I digress - where I was going with this entry was that every so often creativity strikes like thunder and pours out like rain. And where it all happens is here at this desk, feet on the table and pondering over a thought that needs some massaging to reveal itself clearly to the reader. No worries - I'll keep working at it (even as Wendy lurks behind the computer screen, and I am distracted) until someday, a masterpiece results. In the meantime, there is always the next entry.

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Journal : OpenRoadWorks

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