There’s something to be said for holding and reading a book; the smell of the ink, the crackle of the dust jacket, the weight of its pages… that is someone’s imagination right there in solid, tangible… destructible form. Continue reading Anachronism: Someone not of their time or a lover of a simpler time.
Some people thrive with a deadline looming up head and some people freeze into a block of ice.
For me, if the deadline is for my scheduled spot on the group blog, a paid for contest, or some other reason where people are counting on me then the project is first priority.
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The pen is an instrument of discovery rather than just a recording implement.
Holding a pen in my hand is like having a magic wand with the power to turn the images, emotions, and ideas in my imagination into a tangible and shareable piece of literature. There’s something organic and pure and cathartic in using a real pen that you can’t get from a lifeless keyboard.
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I was out on my back deck enjoying the crisp morning and a hot cup of coffee, discussing plot lines for a smut piece with my online writing group. All of a sudden, vicious snarling and pained screeches came from behind the garage.
I raced off the deck, knowing some poor cat or rabbit was about to be mauled by my Boxer and Lab-Whippet. Continue reading Life: It’s where fiction comes from.