Either Book Antiqua or Georgia usually, but I’m open. I will 'font-theme' around and not care how dirty it sounds.
To thoughts like question marks that hang in the air wondering if they breached the detectable audible range: Cuz you swear you didn’t say nuthin'.
It’s okay, this place never closes; thus, sensory detection is heightened.
Stay with me.
Well…12 pt font, but since I detest limitations, I’ll throw up 22 or 36 pt just to mix it up and be un-boxable. Curious as to why all the numbers are even and not odd on the dropdown tab. Well, there’s the ‘9,’ but it’s lonely—like WTH? Is there some rule that I don’t know about? It would be good to know if there is because I enjoy breaking rules.
When the pendulum swings back, it swings BACK, baby.
Was a goody-two-shoes most of my youth. Or was that the result of oppressive societal programming? Or an internalized fear of death by doing something deviant from the norm? Or the potential for being gossiped and talked about ad infinitum? Or because my Mom, “Said so, that’s why!” Whatever it was, it became yesterday’s proverbial toast. Not something that can throw any weight around here now. I’m free!
*Whispering* Except don’t tell my Mom, okay?*
No process is the same. Except when no one’s looking.
I’ll let you in on a secret: No one’s ever looking.
I don’t count the gazillion times I get up/get distracted/hungry/lose my marbles/forget I even had marbles. I enjoy writing because I make my own way and EVERY writer can. Nyah-nyah-nya-nyah-nyaaah!
So, I toss up words like a ‘forever-salad.’ Think about which ones I want today. Guess whether a vegetable, pasta, or fruit salad popped into your mind first when you read that. Consider analysis of the ‘you’ reading for a minute and smile.
Hold the dictionary. Yes, a REAL one! Feel its weight and wisdom. Find hitherto unknown words like ‘entente cordiale.’ Take pleasure in knowing that it’s a noun and of French origin at first glance. Life lived in dictionaries does that. Believe wholeheartedly that this is not “geeky.” This is “bliss.”
Stand up. S-T-R-E-T-C-H.
Get an impulse.
Grab a pen and starting writing.
Yes, on ACTUAL paper (but sometimes, like now, directly on the PC. See? Un-boxable.)
I remember life before the digital age. Say what you want, but it held magic, serenity, and power lost on present generations that makes me weep an ocean of internal salty tears.
Dang, where did the time go?
I don’t finish my first draft sans editing along the way. Impatient? Maybe. Or part of my recovering perfectionist tendencies. Or I just get the feel for a better adjective/phrase/word order that I want to try out right this instant cuz it gives me an adrenaline rush. Or it’s soooo not a big deal, okay! Microscopes are for scientists. Creating like this is an all-out free-for-all!
Lookit all mah tools!!! *Maniacal laugh whilst surveying the toolbar*
I sort of kind of remember when Microsoft Word came WITH your PC purchase and lasted forever. Now, they make you pay for everything separately and it’s a subscription that never ends. Bastards. This is sacrilege! Not enough writers writing and now this???
*SI-IIIIIIIIGH, makes tea*
Completely forget the feeling I had while I was just writing something. My writing is nothing without the feeling. NOTHING. I go on a treasure hunt for my feelings. Like, of course, whenever you’re NOT looking for something, there it is everywhere but when you desperately need to find it!!! Grrr. Oh, well.
I start writing about something else and don’t bother to glance at the pile of half-written “Grrr’s” all over the place. They know me well. They’ll hang around, infinitely patient. Or. They disintegrate to dust.
Interruptions are the end of all life in its immensity as we know it when they are external…but mild eccentricities when I take them.
Whew! Time for a bathroom break ain’t it?
There is no point labeling my first, second, or third winds. I exhaust ordinal numbers and they don’t apply here anyway. Let the writer write HOWEVER they want. This one’s a hoot. Lives life, so can’t stay hooked up to a screen all day but hey—check my bag. Go on, check it! Always got something to write with and on. Heck, even if it’s a receipt, napkin, and colored pencil. I usually have a pen and backup pen.
Will I prick my finger for blood as ink if ever I run out? Shhh! Hahaha, no that’s silly. I’d run out of blood and then this ride would be over.
Windows to countless viewpoints and a vocabulary that won’t wait a minute.
Oneg called me a Word Sorcerer! I love me some Oneg! Here, read her stuff! You can love Oneg too. I’ll let you. Teeheehee.
My mind breaks the speed limit. I get high on deep sensual and intellectual philosophical and everything in between, above, beneath, and around. Dimension parameters are for wusses! Just kidding. Stay in whatever dimension you want. I’m flexible. Full of fire. A question mark on legs. Beyond parameters. Sends "About Me" prompts screaming for exits. I’m intense. Impossible, yet lovable. I’m a writer. Pleased to meet you.
So...what kind of writer are you Sweet Stuff?
I really appreciate that you took the time to read my story! Thank you!
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