Only In My Mind

The mind of a writer is a messy place. Bits of lost dialogue float around only to bump into the padded walls of creativity. Words that have no meaning until they are said are stored away into files that are often forgotten until the Real World triggers them, and they fly from the shelves with wings of inspiration bubbling over out of trembling lips. I scramble for a pen a paper. “Here There Be Dragons” or maybe just a simple murder scene. Stories gather here. All types. Possibility is as endless as the fabricated galaxies that exist (only) here. You might read the beginning but won’t find the end. There may be a climax written in the spur of the moment only to be tossed aside. Let us not forget the characters. Peoples of all types shapes sizes species races wandering around in my mind pushing shoving dueling and desiring their tales to be spun. Their voices whispering in my ear beg me to give them life. All this happens in a writers mind. So if you see me staring off into the distance, a puzzled expression on my face just know that I’m trying my hardest to stop the madness because the mind of a writer is a messy place.