A magical flight

It feels like a lonely world tonight.

I sit here staring at the white page of my computer screen and wonder what to write. Secrets plays on my Internet radio, followed by Armada by Two Steps from Hell. I wonder how long I will continue to sit and stare until I decide to start writing words, anything. Something.

Click, click, fingers on the keyboard and the words start to come to me. Pouring forth.

There are writers who think the act of writing is grueling and love the idea of having written. I prefer the writing. For me, it’s slipping through a little hole unseen by everyone else and coming out in another world. It’s like music that flows in the ears and opens up your mind to possibilities locked within the flow of the music.

It’s like magic.

Who would want for anything else? 

I don’t know. I love the act of writing, even when I’m going with stream of consciousness. Maybe the Midnight Disease has me in its grips again. Oh, Goddess, I hope so! Let me go. May I be lost in the flow. Words found, like little ships floating in the night, yet they are the steady rowing that takes me on my journey. I am captain of my own ship, maker of my destiny. These are creations I have brought to life. Touch by touch, they rise and turn little blossom faces toward me. I conduct my own orchestra.

Whimsy make take me here, or it might take me there. Who knows where I will go tonight, for there are stars that only I can see and I let them guide me.

All I know is that I have found my North Star: storytelling.

Will you pick up the sword and stand by my side as we fight back foes? Will you hide under the sheets as something creeps closer to you in the night? Will sitting in the room with the villain run chills up your spine, or will you gladly sip tea with him? Your responses, you see, tell me a lot about you.

Gentle reader, take my hand and let me lead you further down the rabbit hole. We absolutely must see where it goes! On the count of three. One. Two.


Put your hands in the air.

We do not fall, but we soar. Like Peter Pan’s flight over the rooftops. Steal away the girl from the balcony. We’re off to Neverland.

I see your sidelong glance as I give you one of my own. Oh, really?

Dive, dive!

Say that you will stay the hero and never falter. You know what is at stake if the hero fails. Plummet. Stay true.

Quick, magical movement of the fingers and we don’t go in the water, but fly over it like Superman. Back to the sky. There be stars here. Soar with me. Soar with me.



And safe back down. Our adventure ends, but forever will we hold the secret between us.

I leave you now with a tip of my hat and a wry smile. You will never be the same, for you have been touched by the storyteller’s hand.

Let’s do it again sometime, shall we?