Whether you've just now tuned in to my life, or have been keeping up with my inner thoughts for quite some time now,
I welcome you.
Though you may or may not be entertained by my thoughts, it is for MYSELF that I pen a blog.
As a writer, I enjoy expressing myself.
When I write long romance novels, I am inside my head so much, I forget to focus on reality.
By writing once and a while on my blog, when the mood hits me, I have the freedom to come and go.
To pull up a chair and order lemonade or an ice cream sundae.
To either gobble it down, or eat it ever so slowly...
...until it melts into a concoction that resembles mushy milk.
Pull up a chair! Have a read. I hope you enjoy it.
I do...and that's what really matters.
OH...THE SNOW OUTSIDE IS FRIGHTFUL,
BUT TO ME IT'S SO DELIGHTFUL,
BECAUSE I'M CURLED UP BY THE FIRE AND THEE,
WITH YOUR FACE LIT BY LOVE, AND OUR TREE!
AS I MAKE A MEMORY BOARD FOR DISPLAY,
YOU'RE OUTSIDE YELLING 'COME OUT & PLAY!'
BUT I'M BUSY WRAPPING PRESENTS YOU SEE,
SO ON CHRISTMAS MORN THERE'S PRESENTS FROM ME...
MARTHA STEWART CAME BY YESTERDAY, I KNOW,
TRUDGING THROUGH THE ICE & SNOW,
TO HELP ME DECORATED OUR HOME,
AND MAKE OUR WORLD TOGETHER SHALOM! AS I LOOK AWAY FROM MY MEMORY BOARD
THE COLD AND THE DARK CUT ME LIKE A SWORD,
BECAUSE THIS HAPPILY GLITTERING TREE
IS A FIGMENT OF MY MEMORY.
WHILE SNOW PILES UP OUTSIDE
I WEEP AND MOAN AND HIDE,
FOR CHRISTMAS IS NOW TRAGEDY,
AND HOLY HELL FOR THE LONELY... (WOW, THAT TOOK AN UNEXPECTEDLY TURN!)
It began with whispers and butterfly twittering in the tummy, nervousness predominant, say something sad? something funny? It began one at a time, slow baby steps leaving trails in the snow, stiff prose and tight lips - the heart was colder than anyone could know.
It began on a low note, down at the bottom of a lake. It began to get loose and shake off like the dead skin of a snake. It began on a low note, like the first note of a symphony, gradually getting frisky and feeling more free.
Along the journey secrets slipped through cracks, like lava from blown volcanoes increasing in attacks. Along the journey, somewhere, not sure where, not sure anyone noticed or bothers to care. It opened up like a blossoming flower for morning's dew, sprung to life with invigoration like when summer's anew.
At the end, what will be said, I wonder will they stare in awe, stay away, or plunder? At the end, will anyone be better off for reading? Will anyone comment about what I was needing? When the end comes, amid literary smog, will I be the rich one for masterminding my blog?
The finale is hinting at making its appearance, all righteous, holy, and strong in forbearance. The finale is near, look for me in some nook, writing in flow and successfully publishing my book!