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 LIGHTBULBS, 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, March 22, 2015

Solitude sux

My personal QQs, (quotable quotes).

Solitude is nature’s way of saying slow down and count the snowflakes.

I wrote and posted this one last December, when the house was quiet, the weather mild and winter was not yet upon us. Only a few flakes floated to the ground that morning and melted upon landing. I ached for a storm. The kind which keeps you in by the fire while someone else shovels and plows.  The kind with soup simmering on the back burner and fresh onion rolls warming in the oven.

The solitude, of which I spoke, came, and came, and came, and came again, each Monday until I switched from soup to warm my soul to Vitamin D ointment for my cracked cuticles. I went from snuggling on the couch in front of the fire to chipping ice off the back deck with my husband’s ax.

So much for solitude. When it speaks to me again all I want it to say is, “snow, what snow, it’s gone for good”.

What does solitude say to you?

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