I am thinking what I should write. Darkness and silence do not offer any motivation, nor does the bright white space in front of me.. still thinking… somewhere deep inside I know, I want, I need to write. But the muse disappears as soon as the screen appears.
Where do people gain inspiration to write from? What makes the letters flow and the thoughts dance? Why is some writing so clear and crisp that you can taste rainwater in them and the saltwater in others? How can reading certain writing make you want to cry and laugh at the same time? How do they(the real writers) make you smell the soil and touch the air?
Hmmm...I wonder
Does the smell of turpentine and shaven wood awake in them a sob that has been smothered deep inside?
Do green wet trees soar ones thoughts?
Not wanting to see the sadness in eyes so young trigger compassion or self-loathing?
Or maybe real writers write for themselves
...there.. I made my new post for 2011
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