A short piece written July 6th, 2015 while I was trying to overcome a bout of writer’s block. Samantha sat at the computer, and was printing things for school. Winslow played in her play pen. I sat on the couch in our humble little apartment in Riverside, an Historic district of Jacksonville, Florida.
Key after key, the creator writes into existence… all.
Tap, tap… tap, tap, and more tapping.
The strong resistance of each keystroke does little to stop the arising of a new world.
Mountains of plot, rivers of characters, and valleys of foreshadowing form.
The dark, damp caverns of theme puncture the mountains, hidden until found. There is darkness all around. No need to delete, for light gently kisses the grass of the distant flowing moors.
The tossing of waves backward and forward let dialog splash into a salty froth that dissipates into the ever drifting sands.
The winds of drama swirl, curve, and push ever onward, looking for the next opponent. Adventure’s forest slows drama, daring her to continue through the thickness.
All that happens, happens.
The perfectly aligned chaos of atoms intertwines all of the creator’s creation with an enmeshment of love.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap, and more tapping.
Stories are but a keystroke.