Enter the moment when now becomes yes
when dreams fly free, unbound from gravity and logic.
I sit in this place
in the second, the minute, the hour of possibility.
A woman looks at her lover;
I’ve got the introduction to a story.
A child screams in a store;
I’ve imagined whole chapters: the angry mother, the abusive husband, the lost job.
An old man coughs;
I’ve decided on the poison he imbibed.
All this in an instant.
Then comes the work
the butt in chair, pedal to the metal
BEWARE the cliché
SHUN the formula
WORRY about the industry
the future reader uploading scanned stories, downloading pirated novels on a cellphone/computer/mini-mobile-office.
DAMN my computer! It’s crashed again.
FUCK YOU, reviewer! How dare you take my baby and shred it so?
WHY did she win that award?
WHY did he get that incredible deal?
Paid Book Tours?
I won’t do it.
I go outside.
I breathe, let my shoulders relax.
The warm air is velvet in my lungs, smooth and soft and elegant.
Above me the sky is the most amazing blue.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Do you know . . .
I think this blue isn’t of the Earth.
A magic blue from another world.
Or another time.
Perhaps it’s . . .