I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD-SLAPS, SPEED-BUMPS and LIGHT-BULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.



Sunday, January 12, 2014

A real pane





When a door closes, God opens a window.

What kind of window, how high up, how big, how small, does it have bars on it, does it slide, lift or swivel? It’s a window right? Basement windows are narrow and high up off the cement. A skylight? How the hell am I supposed to get through a basement window or a skylight? Wait a minute, is that what I’m supposed to do, get through it. Walk through it, jump through it, out it. WTF is the deal with God’s window anyway. Open a window so I can get out; get out of what, trouble? No. I’m not in trouble. I’m perplexed.

The newspaper which carries my column is restructuring content. I know what that might mean.
That’s me tapping on the glass.

When was the last time God opened a window for you?

2 comments:

  1. That does not mean what you think it means necessarily. But if it does perhaps it's God's way of saying you have more time for novel writing which is what you are supposed to be doing.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you for your encouragement. The signs are there, you may be right. I have approached an editor. We shall see, my friend, we shall see.

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