The Writer's Dance


I’m penning this blog post from a shepherd’s hut on the Bronté Way just outside Haworth, home to the famous sisters. As I gaze at the scores of tiny grey stone houses on one side and the purple-headed moors, on the other, I sigh contentedly. A sense of peace is slowly washing over my soul, a oneness with God and His creation. It is wonderful to simply breathe. 




I take the time to notice, to listen, to feel. No agenda. No responsibilities. Instead, I allow the sun’s warm fingers to massage the knots out of my muscles and, like a panther waking from its afternoon slumber, I stretch, feeling the release of each sinew and bone. I’m ready for the next chapter.



Now my imagination is released and begins its merry dance. It sparks and fizzes as ideas pop into my head like delicious champagne bubbles. It waltzes; dipping and spinning as characters, settings, and plots twirl around. Creating a whirlwind of words, a polyphony of paragraphs before settling into a wonderous symphony of stories.



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