Top: Sometimes it’s not the elevation, you just can’t get any higher. View of Bath from Solsbury Hill + + + And with them eke, O Goddess heavenly bright, Mirrour of Grace and Majesty Divine, Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose Light Like Phoebus’ Lamp throughout the World doth shine, Shed thy fair Beames […]
These are basically writing exercises. Many of us feel like we have a book inside us. We're taught to write what we know. But writing takes skill, just like any other art or craft. You have to work at it.
Once I loved a woman, and for years our basic form of communication was writing. She taught me how to express love, feelings and emotion. I could do that with her, because I knew she'd read what I wrote, and knew I had to be honest. She'd see through it if I wasn't.
Losing her meant I lost that guardian of the truth. But I've found if I put it out here, even if nobody reads it, I'm still forced to mean what it is I write. I'm forced to be honest, even if much of this is fiction.
And in the process I get to take myself apart and examine my feelings. I get to exorcise my demons. Much of this isn't pretty, but it's honest. I can't imagine why anyone would want to read any of this, but here it is.
At least it keeps me honest.