Musings come uninvited when living alone in a little cabin. Writing is elusive, temperamental, seemingly on a time table in some parallel universe. When it does show, you’d best be available, it can disappear without a trace.
I’m a 76 year old, about to spend 4 days a week over the next 6 weeks in a Creative Writing class, searching for answers on how to transform musings into writings.
Every day at my little cabin I’m joined by these 3 residents. They enjoy a pretty comfortable life, staying “mostly” on the lower 3 acres of the 5 acre property. The hens provide maybe 3-5 eggs a week. The rooster just showed up one day a couple years back, we’re not sure from where, but he obviously found this new living arrangement to his liking. A bit of an attention seeker, he’ll crow with the best of them.
My cabin suits me just fine. For a good share of my life I’ve lived in pretty small spaces. In 1987 I took a job in New York City. For the next 12 years, mostly small studio apartments.
In 2010 I bought a 21′ travel van I named “Moe”. Most of the next 10 years Moe and I spent wandering. Winters in Austin, summers in the Adirondacks. Moe was my home.
I’ve got a whole bunch of stories bottled up inside my mind, most times as musings. Yet to see if this class releases any as writings. Check in once in awhile, or send me a note and I’ll add you to my contacts and update you on new posts. You’ll always be welcome to comment, even write a post or two yourself, I’ll publish most anything… never a charge.
Have a Beautiful Day,
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