Musing

2C/36F, sunny; our walk back from the car dealer was long, uphill into strong Chinook winds interrupted only by a spectacular mountain view, each one blanketed white reflects morning sun; my thighs are burning, my calves rock hard so it must have been good for me . . or maybe I should have stretched first?

PI in Bermuda has a birthday today – congrats!

to those on our VERY wet west coast, I wish you well as you buy or boil water, I wish you sunshine relief from the deluge; I wish you patience while nature has its way with you

patience, that thing I lack; I learn to wait when waiting is required but I hate it

each year life teaches me a little more of that, but patience must be something in the DNA package because I seem to be missing that strain

each day I try to be patient; the work-guy in me wants it in a rush, the writer-guy wants to produce something marvellous in minutes, frustrated by idle keys - happiest when the keys cannot keep up with my thoughts; patience must be for others

time to get it write

get it just write

‘Writing is a lot easier if you have something to say.’ - Sholem Asch

‘It's tougher than Himalayan yak jerky in January. But, as any creative person will tell you, there are days when there's absolutely nothing sweeter than creating something from nothing.’ - Richard Krzemien

‘I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again. ‘ - Oscar Wilde

one of these days a collision of perfection & patience will no longer be illusive like a summer evening firebug – the thing you know exists but you never see & when, at long last, you see it then capturing it is futile

the perfect sentence is my goal

I don’t need the perfect paragraph, the perfect chapter or the perfect book – I will easily settle for something much smaller

one of these days I know I will write the perfect sentence

but it eludes me, squirming away like a slippery bar of soap

one of these days I will just know it

more stream, more consciousness; not likely I will have more patience, but maybe a little would be good

ah, maybe here it comes . . .

it erupts, spillage on special pages - pages of someone's mind, so they choose to soak up a little of me for storage in a brain compartment, like soaking up gravy with a roll not to chew, but to swallow whole

no . . good perhaps, but not even close to great

I will try again tomorrow

and again

and again

Mark

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