Member-only story
It began in Grandma’s basement. A heavy typewriter. I carried it up to the kitchen table and asked if I could have some paper.
No urging from outside sources. This was not a school project.
The stories came. From where? I had no idea, but they compelled me to write them down.
Now, in my fourth decade on this planet I have come full circle.
Throughout the years I have kept at it. This writing game. A play with words, images, ideas, letters, songs, tales, spontaneous juxtapositions of prose-poems pulled from the void, set loose in this energy field and quite possibly back to the empty space from which it came..
When I think of creating in a limited way, there’s resistance. A block. A guard at the gates of creator heaven that will not allow me inside without the password. One I can’t remember.
This experience has repeated itself. Years have gone by without finding the root of why and how.
But now I see.
There is no niche.
No market.
No tricks. Hacks. Limitations.
There is only creation.
However it comes.
This is the key to alignment.
