"Why Do You Write?", I was asked.
And so . . . I answered ~
~ By Absolutely*Kate
Water. Gushing, flowing, knowing, going from perennial meltings of highest wintry snows ~ all a’tumble, quick the rumble, down the mountain, gathering, gathering ~ at breakneck, splish’splash, morning, noon and night speed . . . ever smoothing rocks along the whoooosh of way. No rough edges; edit – feel it. Comes the springtime, green’s the warmth. Tumble takes root. Blossoms bloom, thoughts unfurl. Growth tenders tendrils ~ smiles plant pay-dirt. Flowering words and those which stand stem straight, all on their own, extend the lingo of lingua to root-words . . . and propagate. They grow, they know ~ it’s eternal, it’s ephemeral . . . primal is creation’s way.
Summertime and the living spins easy, breezy. Ol’ lady river confluences, meanders to the sea. Good tidings ensue, for you, for me. Ebb, flow, write, know, concept, consider, cross-current, ripple, ripple, let go, let go, LET GO! Barefoot that beach’walk as sun kisses all that is upturned. A conch’shell pickup hears the world and a new way to spin a tale, flash a fiction, emote a sense, pack a punch. All is a day in June, a Gershwin tune, a gesture to a phrase, a glint, a sparkle on the sea, for you, for me. Blue skies, nuttin’ but blue skies ~ raise high those paragraphs up your mains’l, Wordsmithy. Billow, snap, crackle, catch ~ all the open winds of research and interview til the tell/tale-wind picks up and pure inspiration illuminates the compass rose petals of the day. Sail on, sail on . . . with fair winds, favourable seas. Horizons? No limits baby ~ write, expound and inspire morphs splendid sunset of gut-belly fire-hues to true writer’s desire . . . show me, don’t tell me ~ let it free, let it free . . . the summerwind or Sinatra refrains, for you, for me.
You don’t drop the ball when season’s reasons come to fall a Writer’s way. I am Author ~ hear me soar. Autumnal brights are all the new credentials of a fresh box of Crayola 64. Ahhhh, smell it, scrawl it ~ you’ve been there before. Walk it, kick it and lateral your wild cat passion into gaining yardage in pass-play action – get words to paper, first and ten, do it again, do it again, SCORE to keyboard, to screen … this is essential in each coming scene. Comes the cold, the spirit speaks warmer. Come close, hear the muse ~ give it voice, point of views, flesh the plot line, for me, for you. Crunch leaves (but never spirits) ~ believe in believers, see the contrast, feel the changes . . . your words will e’er show you the trails around any bend my huckleberry friend. Just walk. Just know. Feel it fall. Watch it go.
There’s no biz like snow biz for tuckin’ in close, tossing another blog on the high fire . . . where words want steam and spark and spiral past mere smoked out conclusion. A season can’t hold a comforter down; nor a year, nor a decade, only gloom ~ but we don’t go there, not in this room for thought. Near the shadow we see gestalt, we speak the light. A blizzard blankets white ~ soft white untouched sparkle of surprise ~ like the simile of a snow’day off – Writer takes delight. Words tumble, write, write, right! Crackle the paper, tie the bow, give your love and let it show. The card? A writer waste words? Suffer no fools nor that thought. What you say beats the hell outta what you bought. Holidays, like sensations, are expressions of what we truly say. *Clink*, shout, dazzle, glitter, ring*out, give innate cheer in only your inherent way. You and I write because we have to, we yearn to, we churn to . . . speak what inside must have its own come what may.
How could it be otherwise?
~ Absolutely*Kate, who writes because she’s a writer.
(c) 2010
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Absolutely*Kate is creator, presenter
and enthuser *AT THE BIJOU*,
the captain of HARBINGER*33,
sailing depth into authorship seas,
heralding greatness to be ~
A prolific writer, designer and promotion-publisher
of what's worthy of acclaim in this here world.
She believes in believers.
That's the wind in her sails.
She's real darn glad you read her
stream of conciousness riptide here,
Towels are available AT THE BIJOU doors.
