An honest pen is hard to come by. A block often wedges itself between mind and pen. It catches the raw and revealing insight mustered from the core of our being. Until I find a way through it, I am incapable of writing.
No, I am not at a loss for words. Moreover, a million words are wrestling in my conscience at any given moment. I think it’s more a matter of my words being lost—lost, or perhaps cowering in some obscure corner of my thoughts. Clearly, it’s a case of page fright. My reputation—my very identity—is being held up at ballpoint. No words want to be forged under such pressure.
Yet it is a writing exercise like this that reminds me there is no reason to be pun-shy—where there is a quill, there is a way.
Huzzah! I’ve found the gap in the block. It is time to write.
1 comment:
kill me.
they are so loud.
less than 2.5 months....
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