If there is anything better to do on a grey day than art, writing, or reading, please let me know. The funny thing is I really didn’t think about the grey day until now. My mind was sunny inside while color melted on the page and now words begin to flow. That is how it works - my mind- funny like that.
Should I fix my words as they fall gently on the page? I will not fix them. They will pool on the page and travel to the city in the distance. The city of Durham and the Durham Post are both fictions. Yet, somehow, they come alive as I press the keys on my laptop. I have even added a fictional editor working at the Durham Post. He is there, working at his desk, editing the new reporters’ work. Can you see him? Look close. Closer. He is not smiling as his pen crosses word after word, shortening the writing on the Urgent Care Clinic down the street. The editor’s name is Mr. Loginose, and he has been sitting there each evening for the past 37 years. He is old. The stories he could tell could raise the hair on the back of your neck.
Does anyone want to listen to his stories? The sun is beginning to shine again. It peeked through the clouds just as I began to write about the fictional city of Durham, the Post, and Mr. Loginose. When I get up from the chair at this art/writing desk, I will think of the stories to tell, and the sun will continue to shine.
I am a storyteller.
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