Bowling with Ansel Adams

Blogger or novelist,  columnist or poet, anyone who writes consistently knows the experience.  After hours or days of steadily increasing pressure, a dam breaks. Encouraged by the warmth of reflection, a jam of frozen thought gives way and words begin to flow, irrepressible syllables that splash and tumble over one another as they swirl away to unexpected conclusions.  Images rise into consciousness, yeasty and pliant as freshly homemade bread.  Sentences take on the burnished glow of parking lot pennies. Impatient phrases nudge against the resistant mind, begging for attention.  

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining.  Show me the glint of light on broken glass”, says Chekhov.   And now and then, we do.  Often we’re unable to explain how or why it happens ~ some lines do seem to “write themselves” ~ but however strange or inexplicable the experience, there’s no question that it’s real. Continue reading