Remember the way they rattled,
the coins on the dash as we
drove over washboard roads,
in perpetual pursuit of something to do?
We were nonstop restless
drowning in summer heat and itching
to wrap ourselves in some sort of
mischief or mayhem or both.
She will respect this, we said,
as we dove from the cliff above the quarry
splashing into breath-taking water
desperate to impress.
I know. The title doesn't seem to make sense, but in my reality, it does.
I have been so consumed by writing things for my clients that I have had no time, or maybe it's no energy, to write for myself. I normally enjoy writing poetry, flash fiction and the odd essay. But lately, none of this.
This isn't unusual for business writers. It is, however, still frustrating.
I'm going to change this lack of balance. I have stories that are pushing to be told, and I will comply.
