Epistle Envy

stockvault-classic-hotel-room112064Do you remember those old Magic Fingers beds? Throw in a quarter and you’re moving and grooving without the aid of lover or hand. At a loss for some coin? The bed, the mattress and all its polyester fluff would just lie there and offer you a decent night’s sleep but no pleasant “hitch” to your “get-along.”

Yeah, well, my brain is a lot like that. The writing zip code, at least.

One example coming up…

In The Hushing Days, one character writes a letter to another character, a complete stranger at that point of the tale.

Should be easy-peasy, right? No interactions to doll up. No banter. No flirting. No fire to keep stoked and sizzling…

Please. If there’s ever been anything easy or peasy about this book, someone tell me.

Anyhow, for months, my brain would just simply lie there dormant at the task of writing the very important letter. If forced, it would have offered a real sleeper of an epistle, but that’s not what I was after.

Unbeknownst to me, the coinage my old gray matter requires to get humping is coursework. You know, school work. Lectures, homework assignment, required reading, etc.

Yesterday, I started an online course from Harvard about Emily Dickenson.

Yesterday, a shiny quarter dropped and before I could even appreciate the grind, that letter was fini and grand!


Don’t worry. Sometimes, my weirdness even leaves me at a loss for words.

Until tomorrow…



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