The writing phenomenon is one filled with wonder and awe. It’s function and success cannot be explained. It is as much a surprise to the reader as it is to the writer. It unfolds with no plot and no set destination. It just happens. If the writer has full control of the pen, then the ship crashes, capsizes, and dies a horrible death at sea. If the writer hoist the sails and allows the winds of passion to engulf its white sails, it will push the vessel across the waves and the ship shall set the course of a lifetime.
The car puts itself in drive and presses its own accelerator. The steering wheel navigates it’s own course, when the pen flows. Nearly five or six years ago, I decided to let pen run its own course.
Run Pen Run….
She whispered something in his ear that confused, slightly intimidated, and intrigued him. This was the first time that he would ever be left speechless. He needed answers quick, so he sought wisdom from across the length and breath of this globe. He searched until he found one who would answer his great question. He found a man deep inside the depths, beyond the dark doorways, and housed inside a dungeon beneath an old abandon city library. One man surrounded by millions of books. How can I help you young man?
She said to me, “Make Love to my Mind not my Body!!” Fact or fiction? Possible or Impossible? Hoax or reality? The Old man of wisdom reached out and handed the young man a black bag. He said to the young man, “Be very careful with the contents within this bag. Guard that which is inside this bag with your life.” He thanked the old man and took off headed for home. As he opens the bag, He starts talking to himself, “Make Love to Her Mind…Fact or Fiction? I’m writing and thinking at the same time. The bag is filled with words. Words jump out the bag unsupervised. Can I kiss her without touching her lips? Will it require me to describe the warmth of her lips and the taste of her lip gloss before she will ever agree that it happened? Do I swallow it to savor it? Make love to her mind? Is this simply the obvious opposite of doing it to her body? Can I talk beneath her clothes and lightly upon her skin like a caressing scarf of silk? Can I mentally restrain her or will she willfully allow me to have my way with words? You want my words? Could be facts, could be fiction. Can words be spoken like soft magic? You believe in hocus pocus? If I whisper the words, do they have a deeper meaning and lasting effect? What’s strange is, it’s just letters and fonts arranged and spaced. Maybe it’s you and not me? Tell me more you say? Where did this phenomenon arise from. How do mere words warm you? Spoken they seem to be like the painters brush in warm body paint and guess who is the willing canvas? Fact or fiction, I don’t know? What do you think?