threads
December 30, 2014 § 6 Comments
Some days I am haunted by a silent unraveling as words in want of paper work against the stillness of my pen. Gossamers of truth that play against the light; memories that catch against the sharp corners of lost minutes.
In these moments, I wonder this: what if we are given but one story to share or squander?
scribblechic 
I think every writer wonders this.
Then I am in good company as I push against the insufferable weight of personal doubts.
We are given but one story to tell or to squander! No edits allowed. Fortunately though even in the limited time we have it is permissible to allow the spinner to rest awhile until the threads of meaning can, once again, be woven.
You always lend a thoughtful spin, Maurice.
Well, in some ways we are, perhaps? Our lives…?
Baz, our lives are, unquestionably, our most important story.