Here's some writing for you (taken from my three pages a day a few days ago):
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The aroma of inspiration overtakes me,
wafting to my senses from the petite, orange mug sitting on my table.
It beckons me with stamina and alertness.
I wait, trying not to delve in before it is safe.
The steam flows up in chalky, white ribbons,
teasing my nose as I wait patiently.
It moves as I move, liquid dancing as I pull my pen across paper.
My tired eyes and mind wake ever so slightly with just the smell,
and I wait, more impatiently with each passing second.
And now I am grasping at straws.
I have killed the metaphor,
beat a dead horse.
I can say no more about the dark, amber liquid
staring me down as I attempt to move through my work,
as it cools enough for taste buds to handle.
I push my way through this,
the third page of the three pages I neglected yesterday,
And like the banana on the table in front of me,
I am bruised.
My writers ego,
like many times before,
has been tested and tried as I transpose words on a page.
Words are not easy to come by this early in the morning,
yet here I am...
Pushing on toward a goal as much as I can.
Finally, I have reached the finish line.
There is a sort of freedom and honesty in your writing bursting out here, Allison. I feel as if I am in the room with you.
ReplyDeleteI definitely feel like this sometimes. Especially since I had coffee and a banana (and toast) for breakfast this morning! But seriously, in terms of writing, yeah, sometimes it's like pulling teeth.
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