Ah, we have more voice than one in our writer’s mind, though I sought, thought I found truth in a whisper unraveled through time and practice.

Yes, I’ve grown a bit weird as I age–quickly through dedicated study in the past couple years.  But the free thinking writer shall write straight from the mind, and these two delighted this morning as they roamed from the tense and the tension of language:

Mark, at Clear Lake Reflections:

An hour behind, this sleepy mind stayed in bed faking dead, sight unseen for the next dream, a goodbye theme. Sad to report, under covers did I sort the hows and whys and wherefore of byes, till a chilly clock began to mock me up at last, out of the past, or from what might come, who knows where from.

Loretta, at Pomegranates and Paper:

This is what is waiting for me in my art room, she thought:

silken ribbons
swaths of velvet
in the hues of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires

Tis the moon or the season, the turkey or rum, or a sign that we grow into ourselves as we age.

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2 Responses to WRITING: Voice

  1. Loretta says:

    Susan, that’s it exactly – the rum.

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