All Night Mambo!

Reposted from TwoHeaded Cat

( Under a cut for your pleasure. )

Thanks to everyone who answered my question about computer vs. paper.

For me, I think it's really a matter of mood. There are times when I want to sit outside, or in the bottom of the closet. Having the visceral sensation of putting pen to paper and just writing full bore is crucial to the end result during those times. But this is also a system by which I don't let myself edit as I go. If I find myself thinking to hard, I push through it and keep writing. It's about pouring your thoughts and feelings out.

When I then transfer those onto computer for editing, I do start editing on the fly. But I find having an original on paper is helpful when I go back to look at my past work. It shows me my thought processes and the organic nature of my work.

On the otherhand, I do a lot of work straight to computer. Usually my column is done like that. I sit down and type like a mad woman, spell check, read aloud, change some things, reprint and hand to Patch for editing.

But there are always those times in which I long for a nice writing desk, good paper and a dip pen, so that I can orchestrate language with an artistic flare from moment one.

For supper I indulged in a Petunia and Dafodil salad spiced with pine needles.

A Dragon’s love is deep and without end.

The dragon stretched and wriggled her spine, wrapped herself around her mate and whispered: “I love thee, with all my heart and through the deepest fiber of my being. I shall protect thee from every harm, even to the eternal damnation of my soul.” The two snuggle closely and slept in the warmth of their love.

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***It was meant as an end to a happily ever after… I never expected it to be a beginning***

…And so the dragon and her mate curled up in the warmth of their love.

But the cave has grown cold now. The winter fast approaches, the first in seven years she will face alone. Every movement echoes into the deep, fading as the pain has begun to fade. The scar is deep and she will always feel the onset of winter.

She prepares her nest for hibernation, shifting and moving, nothing seeming quite right. She has slept as one dead… ignoring the portends of the dreadful cold. Now, she gathers her strength to rekindle the fire within…to give her warmth, without the love of a mate now gone.

In every corner memories hide, some sweet and others wild with sorrow. Who will stand with her in battle now? Who will keep her warm when the winter sun sets? Whose wounds will she tend? To whom will she murmur her thoughts of love? Dragons are not meant to live alone.

In her cupboard she keeps her hoard. Some shiny bits of metal, an emerald, a diamond or two, most precious to her are those which were given in love…and old glass globe, oil from roses of their love and scraps of paper holding bits of memory clinging in their fading ink.

Her heart aches, a rough wound indeed. Her pain has poured out on the cold stone floor and has risen to drown her. She ponders the task before her. How best to prepare for the driving snow? How best to survive the bitter pall?

To have to think now, not as two, but as one is a task almost beyond her ken. A sigh wracks the depths of her soul. She does not look forward to the challenges of winter’s cold, the sleep and the starvation. How long will the numbing last? When will spring bring hope to a heart so shattered?

She sits watching icicles form. Until the cold is gone and only numbness remains.

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