There is a magic in writing.

Setting fingers to keyboard and watching the words flow. There are those times when the subject and the progression are clear, others where I just type and see what flows forth. It is not perhaps the most organized or proper way of doing things—but there you are.

It does not pay to stop in the middle, the thoughts and the meaning will never be the same. It is easy to see the breaks, starts and stops where I may have tried to pick up the thought and proceed on, but it is never the same.

Is that my excuse for not writing longer pieces? That any piece would look like it has been patched like a quilt of separate and distinct bits. Where the whole may blend, but it is not a smooth and seamless progress from start to finish.

Certainly it is not like knitting a sock where I can start with a pattern and know how many stitches are at the beginning. How long the leg and the special turn of the heel creating a bit of three dimensional wearable comfort out of what was a skein and five slender sticks.

Perhaps it would be better if I plotted out the beginning, the middle and the ending. I could write a clear short story or a novel. I would know the start, the climax and the denouement. But that would, for me, take out some of the joy of surprise. I don’t like knowing the ending before I get there.

So fiction, query letters and deadlines are probably not in my future for I would have to change my basic nature. To get organized about my own work and stop procrastination would be a complete drag.

There is no need, for after all there are limitless tomorrows in which to do all of which we dream.


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