Stretch. Sigh. Squuuiiiinch the tired from your eye areas. Neck back ceiling stare to engage muscles and signal work time.

Inhale, Exhale.

Focus on finding today’s story in your soul, attach tether, and pull. Wrench it from that deep well and hoist. Sitting tall(ish) now. Back only slightly as slouched as normal “you” posture dictates. Shoulders back. Eyes forward now. You are not positive, but you are going to type anyways.

Try to make shoulder blades touch each other. Get your trusty pecking two pointy fingers in position to work with right hand spacebar thumb, scooting closer to keypad like turning down music when lost.

Fingers unsure of what words they might form from the idea gathering in fingertip brainwave-ends – as if there is a bubble of opaque screening between the story in your mind and the collection of letters, punctuation, and phrases that is about to be assembled.

Inhale. Exhale.

Both feet planted firmly on the granola detritus from past breakfasts spilled.

First paragraph formed. A set up you may cheap trick return to for a fancy ending. Exposition laid. Purposeful.

More words follow. Careful, but not to seem so. A once experienced waltzer attempting to look not-trying for fear of slip up. Aware. Deliberate. Plausible?

You push forward. Function and form fluctuating into a dance familiar and gratifying until they swirl into publishable flourish.

Tension melts out through fingertips and covers the canvas with a version of melodic meaning close to what was sought at the start.

The keys are being pecked now with controlled abandon – stress eaten by knowing today is almost accomplished and all that’s left is the posting.

Lingering fears about new intervention strategies finding time, or their mark, dwindle into the composition through the now loosened waters of ideas converted to communicative prose becoming a watershed for the day’s offering (that you rarely get to experience anymore in your constant grad work and lesson plan writing because of restraints and limitations therein).

Nerves about meeting her parents and writing about it get built and destroyed  as the piece goes from a borrowed-idea intro for a month long journey to the on-the-page first step of a writer who’s recently turned a new leaf  – and flutters back down, forming the gentle ending to a new beginning.

7 thoughts on “coversong

  1. Hey! This format is quite inspired! It reminds me of one I did about piano during last year’s challenge. Or maybe the year before’s challenge. Not sure. To marching forward with courage! Happy Slicing!


  2. What I love about this piece is the way the composition stands as metaphor for the mental process of your writing. And hopefully, while some of your stories may take some wrenching and pulling, there are others that will show up at your doorstep, ready for you to greet them and let them in.


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