The rain on my window sounds like bubble wrap being popped demurely – poppity pop. Or popcorn. Or hundreds of fingernails tapping softly. Hmmm. I’m thinking that this is why I’m not a novelist – aren’t you supposed to be able to write in metaphors & similes, and all those parenthetical descriptive ways? For me, this rain on my window really does sound like rain. On my window. As I commented on someone else’s blog recently, I’m a literal soul.
I’m intrigued by my own writing process – which is to say, my non-process. Basically a thought or poem or essay blooms in my head, fully formed & resists all efforts to modify or rewrite – draft isn’t really in my vocabulary. Except for this little post, obviously – there’s no blooming going on here! Just being contemplative while I listen to the rain.
How do you write? Maybe I’ll try some new method if it intrigues me enough…
And here’s a PSA: I had my annual mammogram yesterday. As usual, it was uncomfortable, but not painful. If you’re a woman over the age of 40 & you don’t get regular exams, please start now. It’s the perfect way to show that you love yourself – and your family & friends.