It’s late at night. I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine, which always spurs me on to write, for better and for worse. At this point in the night, I haven’t even approached my own writing floundering in a folder on my desktop, waiting for life, waiting for a defibrillator of cleverness to bring them (it?) to life.

This time of night in my writing process,  I roam around familiar territories on the internet, reading and admiring the words of others as I have since, well, since when? What is my first memory of reading? I suppose Dick and Jane. I loved its simplicity and the goofy pictures of a perfect family life as my own family was floundering. But then came C. S. Lewis, Tolkien, and Enid Blyton to take me away to new worlds of words and magic and story at ages 6, 7, and 8.

C.S. Lewis at age 6 you ask? But of course. I still have the original, spine-cracked, masking-taped volume of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Just try and take it from me. Narnia? Oh, yes please.

So tonight in my wordy meanderings, I revisited a place that consistently gives good word by The Smithy of words, a poet and novelist. It makes me happy (and jealous) to read the words that she puts together to make a mundane sentence become an adventure in letters and thought.

Read this blog. It’s good word.


And now I suppose it is time to revisit my own words. Good Night and Good Reading.

Miss B