The dreams playing in my sleep were dark and uncomfortable, and I wanted nothing more than to get out of them and into the light of day.
I woke early with words to write—words that bubbled up in my mind as I tried to make sense of the dreams that had disturbed my sleep. Even before our morning constitutional, I was sitting at my vintage desktop computer, writing away, as if words could untangle the muddle of my heart.
If you feel the urge to complain about the poetry, please remember this is only a draft. I realize that I'm near the edge of that slippery slope and I'm taking steps to correct it. I promise.
After our walk, I was anxious to get back to my blog. Too much delay could cause me to lose the atmosphere. A proper atmosphere is everything when writing a blog like mine.
"Five," I said.
"Genome, you've written over 100 blog posts this year..."
"The count is 108," I said.
"And five more before the middle of the month? You're really on a roll."
"I love it," I said. "I don't want to stop."
She gave me a knowing look, one accompanied by a smile, and then she said, "I know you have something you want to say to me. Let's hear it."
"As you know," I began, "Most of my days are spent under the influence of one or more emotional storms. When the mood of the day features some combination of anxiety and depression, I try to find something funny in it and then write it up in The Circular Journey."
"I know," she said. "It's a form of therapy for you, it's entertainment for me."
That was all I needed to hear. There is no greater gift for me than winning her approval. I would' been happy to muse on her words for the rest of the day, but I couldn't stop the flow of words.
"Although I intend my stories to be light and whimsical," I said, "I take my writing seriously and work hard to make it as good as possible. I make each day's story sound better than it actually is, and I find that the more I write, the more I enjoy living in this protected garden my life has become."
"And my life, too," she said.
“Yes," I said, and I paused for a second to let her words sink in before continuing. "You see, it's something I can feel good about because I created it, and I like it. A blog is a living thing. People will be reading it years from now."
"Just look at it," I said, turning the screen so that she could see it. She not only saw it, she read the last paragraph I'd written.
"Under cover of rain,' she began, 'the morning graced roses with washed and glowing faces, hanging limp in nearby spaces, reflecting from the road."
We shared a moment--I was thinking about how proud I was of the post. I suspect she was wondering if I ever use her photographs to illustrate my posts. She likes to protect her copyrights and I don't blame her.
"It's poetry," she said and then gave me a blank look as though expecting me to fill in the gaps.
"I can't help it, Wonder." I said. "When my fingers touch the keyboard, I feel this compulsion to write something ====what and what? But I can control it. I just have to be rigorously vigilant."
To quickly change the subject before she could get a toe-hold, I said, "This story is 756 words long! Imagine--an entire story in less than 800 words."
"I know how challenging it can be to tell a story in so few words," she said. "I remember magazines that published our travel articles gave us a limit of 1200 to 1500 words, which was challenging enough."
"I have a unique style," I said, warming to the subject. "My words draw you in. You think you know what I'm about to write, and then you realize that I toyed with you, and then you chuckle. You can't help yourself."
"Do you ever wish you were still a freelance travel journalist?" she asked.
"No way," I said. "Blogging is my future, Wonder. I create a lovely garden--a protected Eden. Writing is my happy place. Even Princess Amy is OK with it."
"So there's absolutely no downside," she said. "Perfect."
"Well, I said, "the spell-checker can be annoying. I often make up words and Grammarly doesn't approve of them. Makes me stop in mid-composition to deal with it."
"You know, you can add those words to the Grammarly dictionary and stop the interruptions," she said.