NaNoWriMo 2015. Day 14.
Not enough coffee in the world. This may drive me to drink. I am pretty sure I am sitting in a public coffeeshop and may just have forgotten my pants today. Don’t mind me… I am writing a novel this month.
Behind The White Gate.
I had the pleasure of joining my sweet landlord’s to a neighborhood event and meeting new people. Talking of Marionette’s and feminism in the academic community , conversation’s of science and music. Talking with artist’s and PHD’s. Science, math, art and religion all in one room.
I then strolled down to MOD Coffeehouse and enjoyed some actually surprisingly really good music, a nice treat. Two brother’s with two very different style’s. And very different voice’s.
To write, one must feed their brain, mind, body and soul.
In a single day on my island I do this when I awake in the morning to the seagull’s song and linger in that moment when dream’s whisper still and the bed feels more comfortable than a cloud. I find this feeding in watching the swirl of cream into my coffee and delighting in that first, sweet, steady morning sip.
With music and dance while making breakfast, door wide open to greet whatever weather the day brings me, rain or shine. With a head clearing run on the beach which hold sight’s and sound beyond anything therapy could ever do for you.
I stroll through my down town and neighborhood, watch people work in their garden’s, paint victorian home’s, or an oil painting to birch.
I chat or sit and talk long of Angel’s and life and relationship, studie’s, music and economy.
I sip a latte under a parugula covered in vine’s and read a book, relaxing my mind and people watching of those from all over who come to this town for short moment’s and some forever.
I buy passage past an orange cat into the Galveston BookStore and purchase a random book completely by it’s cover. Or seek out a particular author’s name.
I lunch on a deck in a gentle breeze and watch the ship’s load and pull out to sea, the delight of vacationer’s on their way to a week of lifetime experience. Dolphin’s playing in it’s trail.
I take a walk along the dock’s of men who still follow one of the world’s oldest employment’s to feed their families.
I notice site’s and sound’s and see a picture in a moment and a story in the picture.
A couple zips by on bicycle’s, his encouragement, her laughter.
And in an evening I will walk, slipping my hand into the strong and warm hand of him whom I love, feeding the mind, body and spirit…and the heart.
How do I find the inspiration for my writing?
How do I not?