I write without a map. My interior monologue takes me to unexpected places. Most are pleasant, some unexpectedly dark.
I don't know if it's showing up in my writing yet, but my thinking is becoming a little more … complex. Textured. The twin disciplines - - thinking and writing - - are sort of forcing me to examine life more intimately. Which is kind of cool.
This little journey … well, I'm not sure where it's leading me. But maybe, just maybe, I'm becoming a more critical thinker. Observer? Recorder? Something.
Paige