You Believe You Could Not

Trapped In Silence, Marco Traces Apologies And Adorations Across Celia's Body With His Tongue. Mutely Expressing All The Things He Cannot Speak Aloud. He Finds Other Ways To Tell Her, His Fingers Leaving Faint Trails Of Ink In Their Wake. He Savors Every Sound He Elicits From Her. The Entire Room Trembles As They Come Together. And Though There Are A Great Many Fragile Objects Contained Within It, Nothing Breaks.

I Binge Write. I Think It's Because I Started Seriously Writing By Participating In National Novel Writing Month, An Online-based Challenge To Write 50,000 Words In 30 Days.

At The Center, Where A Cuckoo Bird Would Live In A More Traditional Timepiece, Is The Juggler. Dressed In Harlequin Style With A Grey Mask, He Juggles Shiny Silver Balls That Correspond To Each Hour. As The Clock Chimes, Another Ball Joins The Rest Until At Midnight He Juggles Twelve Balls In A Complex Pattern. After Midnight The Clock Begins Once More To Fold In Upon Itself. The Face Lightens And The Clouds Return. The Number Of Juggled Balls Decreases Until The Juggler Himself Vanishes. By Noon It Is A Clock Again, And No Longer A Dream.

When You Meet Someone New Who Instantly Gets You, Your Sense Of Humor And Your Attitudes And Your Worldview, Even If Theirs Are Different - And You Get Them In Return. You Both Talk And Talk And Agree And Laugh And Nod And Yes, Yes, Of Course You Should Get Another Round Of Drinks.

I Don't Have Any Particular Rituals, I Sometimes Like To Write In Longhand When I'm Searching For Ideas But I Do The Vast Majority By Typing, I Can't Always Keep Up With My Thoughts Longhand. I'm Not A Coffee Shop Writer Because I Feel Obliged To Order More Coffee And Then I End Up Over-caffeinated.