Join Me in My Magic World!

I have come to notice, at least 3/4^th of the time, if I excel in writing I usually go a bit mad. Is that what it is like for all writers? Just when my words start to flow like a waters from a magical fountain and every thought is expressed in the utmost divinity of my powers, it leaves me cursed, a half-life feeling. For I feel such a way as this. I am exhausted as I begin this week, but the pattern of my writing of late has been emotional and poetically prosed. I cannot even write down the narratives of my silly, confused little existence without making it sound grand and storybook-like. Sometimes, I wonder if I might have unconsciously stumbled upon the fountains of another life—to write and imagine your world in the weird, fantastic, terrible, powerful, amazing way that writers do seems to add golden flourishes to an otherwise boring schedule and hidden smiles to your face.

Yesterday, my hand got stuck on the refrigerator. As much as I tried, it simply would not come off by easy means. I had to pull and pull and pull—finally, as though released by an invisible force, I broke free. I am not sure how it happened. But I have noticed that odd little happenings such as that have been occurring to me more and more. I was quite sure the peppershakers at work are talking behind the back of the saltshaker who stands alone in the far east quadrant of the lobby. I have been meaning to scold them about that...

 

Are some hidden borders of an incredible, secretive world pervading upon my dull reality? I try to be dutiful and go about my day seeing only black and gray like I am told, but then I am struck with contagious laughter of a bursting, brilliant, juicy sunny yellow; or a sumptuous, tingle of glee as royal purple swirls around me like an opulent, silk dress.

Tell me, to whom am I speaking? For I feel very distinctly like I am talking to someone. A ghost within my blog perhaps? My mind is bursting and exploding and nearly being ravaged by a cannonade of a thousand—nah, a billion! new ideas. I cannot even finish the first thought before the second one enraptures me beyond the ability to complete it. If there had been a vial of magic potion which sets free the words that bounce about within my head, I do believe I have inadvertently drank it. I feel compelled to write every second of every day…and even further, I feel frustrating intensity to share what I say. Share it for the whole world! For I don’t feel vain, that my words, silly and rudimentary as they are, to be anything grand or noble or brilliant. I just believe a magical feeling is seeping through the cracks of the “A’s” or sneaking around the “O’s” or peaking their faces around the “G’s.” What magical feeling you ask? I cannot say. I believe it would be improper and rudely presumptuous for a writer to declare what her work makes the reader feel. I just know that when I begin to write, my world is transformed by this magic and I long to share the same world with everyone who reads me!