The urge to write
and think people care
webs and wanes and all but disappears
until a moment, many weeks earlier, the storyteller in my mind arises again.
The journals start. The notes on scrap pieces of paper and old receipts. Names of characters I already know but need to layer and personalize.
The places I've been, have not been too far away
But I do have a huge imagination, been known to exaggerate and have been told I'm funny.
So now all I need is my muse, my passion, my reason....
And then I think I can start this book I've yearned to write for years and years and years.