Every great writer has a dog to bounce the words off of. I have a cat. She thinks she is the writer. That’s when she isn’t running around the house like her tail is on fire, playing with the house fairies, or knocking everything off the table.
“Once there was a kitten….” She’s attempting her autobiography, but she hasn’t been in this world very long, so it mostly contains stories about what kind of food she likes. Every day, I return from my day job at 5:30. She associates this with dinner time. Wet food, instead of dry cereal. If I leave the house and return an hour later, evern though it’s early AM, it must be dinner time. After all, she has not, yet, learned how to read a clock.
From compost we grow gardens. From random words, we grow poetry and prose. This was the idea when Natalie Goldberg wrote her book Writing Down the Bones. It is a process to learn to write for me and what I want, instead of what someone else wants. One that takes practice. This is what Thursdays will be devoted to. Even though today is Friday.
Welcome to the Journey! If you are a writer, you are especially welcome to add your own.