Elusive sleep

Imagine, a hangover. But not from cocktails.

A heavy head, filled with fog. Thick and soupy, full of words that won’t transmit.

Distractions.

A fantasy filled with desire and hope.

Longing.

There is no time, no peace, no focus.

But it will come. It has to.

The story takes shape, slowly, like the torso of a snowman. Getting bigger, fatter.

Until it melts. Again.

Sleep eludes. The wifi beckons. It never sleeps.

Maybe the words will form at dawn.

Maybe not.

The abstract dream

She saw him sitting there on a bar stool at the counter, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was looking at a screen in his hand. He didn’t see her looking at him.

Continue reading The abstract dream

The writer’s cabin

Imagine, a cabin. A single room with a small kitchenette, indoor plumbing, electricity and a fireplace.

Continue reading The writer’s cabin