Pen in hand searching for words . The other gripped firmly. One used the other motionless. Words spill out on to the page slow at first then erupting . Sprouting out in fountains of sentences and paragraphs. They speak to my soul telling me their plans their past their future.
Starting in a field not knowing where the path will lead but not that it matters. It’s the sights along the way, the words of the people you meet the smiles the tears the dreams. None of them are yours they belong to the story to the characters. They take your hand some hold tight and some loose and they lead you to their world

6 thoughts on “Morning”

    1. I only writing a year and i am just enthralled with the quality of people’s stuff that i read and what i have to aspire to. I wonder if feeling like an amateur is in fact a good thing, means we still have that hunger to get those words on the page


      1. For me it’s more to do with self-confidence. I’ve been complimented on my cooking, singing and writing, but I just never believe it myself. But I think it’s important to have sufficient confidence in your abilities in order to keep motivated. I mean, I’m no great writer. I just believe in what I write and that’s where the confidence comes from.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Interwoven with vividly authentic dialogues, each sequence in this psychological drama is tempered with a sense of humour, satirically shedding light even upon the darkest times in her early life. Instead of the usual joys of childhood, the vulnerable girl is never allowed any time to relax or be playful, but has to satisfy with the void of her longings for a proper human life, continuously bombarded with a huge volume of tasks. Somehow, she manages to keep both her faith and sense of self, in spite of growing up in such an unhealthy atmosphere.

    That bit from your blog is lovely, a shining of a light into the very fabric of your soul. But i really like what you say about writing as a therapy. I find that as well. I have all these words inside of me crushing against my brain to get out. I don’t care if what I write is pure rubbish at times as long as those words are on the page and out of my head where they are just acting the mick knocking on the door


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