A Tale — Give Me A Good Tale

What Does It Mean For You To Write?

The Sweet Romance From The Undertow Of Our Days Alive

©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms

I recall an idea I gave over to a friend of mine, that being the Pacific-seeing Philip Writes — so please indulge my ever-faithful usage of that dearborn Katy Hepburn! In light of a wee departure for a series on the Writer, she comes to illuminate perfectly the Simple Questions I ask, with possibly hazardous Answers!:

What Does It Mean For You To Write?

Also in an effort to be more palatable to those who may be a bit afraid of all of this [Gestures to the bodily self], I am doing these purely unadulterated, chaotic pieces of pure running thoughts, to be that calling voice in the deep-snowstorm that writing often is, you’re not quite alone, not utterly to that space of your thoughts.

Unless that storm is of another approach, for unbridled experience, then it is hard to know when to stop! — I get too lazy myself to do so too.

Circling back around —

Take this thought as it is:

There has never been a time until now, in your history, where such platforms existed to house all tales and blistering stories; Whatever that may entail… the thing you’ve got to ask yourself is, Why?

To Write And Why? — Why To Write

In the spirit of making this a homely and friendly piece, in a wider sense too, let me ask a reader of mine, and a friend undoubtedly, and that is to you, Kendalin Jane! — We’ve worked on a couple of pieces together, which I say whilst bustling around on the inside like a smirking child in the toy store of what our next adventure could entail, but, here is my long-winded point with the good but separating it: What did writing mean for you, when you just let things go, in the Taoist sense, and wrote truly for the first time?

Rather, when did you recognize something that was penned as being ‘real’ writing, instead of ink on bank forms and recalls?

Here so far, are my tales — Oh, give me a good tale I always ask of the world, so greedily, like a laughing gnome seated at a cafe in a blustering storm, sipping on a good cuppa; but how much is there left to give?

In my case, Much — too much, if this platform and space will have me, and if the ears wish to hear or not;

I could concern myself completely with talking with myself, but that may require a lack of endorsement on my behalf. You wouldn’t believe the number of things lost in long, aimless conversations with myself — so I won’t mention it again. Ah, never mind mate.

So why do I write — ah-ah, as I wag my finger at yer, I am never one to fully give over my secrets; give over my everything, besides, a lil’ bit more mystery in this world is not too bad of a thing now, is it?

Perhaps someday you’ll catch me though, wrangling these masses, while patroling the beach, as I spilled my eyes on a Sea bobbing its slick head over the short waves, and to the sky; Oh, that, my, a thing that is formed and never seen again — ever! A once-in-a-lifetime chance, only one in a Kajillionaire to see that unsettled sight — my, that goddamn sky! [The only chance I will ever swear at, the only chance I deem to be worth it!]

Perhaps too you’ll hear me singing, or catch my grimances thrown at a man who fishes fish, only to chuck them back away into the sea — oh, ta very much matey, giving Fish a wee sliver touch of trauma; even if Fish existed at all, which they don’t, not like Mammals anyway, all nice and together — they’re without friends so to say!

But now I am swaying against my console, and preparing to neatly tie this wee thing in the bud, giving you a piece of unadulterated me, that fairly wayward seer of things;

Anyhow, to clap my hands, and show myself the door, I’ll leave you to stew over that all — perhaps even to stop you for a wee second;

I know, I am a great indulger for the release of prattling thoughts, that cause a ruckus, and an awful tiff in the mind — at least, a confession for my working of things, but…

How About You —

Perhaps you better give it a Try?

Give it a Space for that Mild Release.

Instead of teasing yourself when you’re full, unable to write hungrily for something; You may be overflowing to even begin truly!

Ta-ta now, my lovely lumps of marshmallows, god-speed ;)

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As ever, Dear Reader.