Fickle Written Words


I like to say my words are only as fickle as my characters, and the answer to how much is that? Very. But of course, I suppose then that words are only as fickle as their writer. Me, the writer who questions and stays up far past when my eyes tug slowly closed around the edge and lets my back creaks from sitting over my laptop's lit screen in the dark. It must be why my eyes fuzz far away. They are trying to tell me something I don't want to hear unless they sing to the tune of poetry and The Avett Brothers. 

There are so many questions after all to be said and written in a manner only few will question forward, so I shall and backtrack when I must. Even if the case is a novel six partial drafts in though determined to make it to the ending finish line where their will be the pop of imaginary confetti along with a moment where my over worked fingers will suddenly...stop typing. A long breath will exhale as if my last, as it is into this story. It will be the end, and my mind will feel content. Almost. Because though my characters may be slightly appeased until they selfishly want more life, more stories will also be waving, screeching over one another for attention like in those odd adds I never seen in action for Black Friday. There may be some shoving, profanity, and all together messed up-ness. It is the beautiful ribbon wrapped package so may of my favorites come in. 



Until then it is one fickle difficult sometimes ugly word at a time. Closer. Unless of course someone knows of the magic that will transfer the entire story from my brain to page- no? I sadly did not think so either. 

So I suppose I shall let my fingers type until they bleed and my back ache until I must lie down and the sun just try to get me to sleep each time it sets, because I shall not. Because after so long, I am going to get this story stream of words out whether they be the ones I envision or not. Then we can hope for this little thing called revision. 


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