I am sitting in the dark; blanket wrapped around my body, computer on my lap. The head phones are plugged in but I'm not listening. They can't dull the key taps for my sleeping roommate. I like the clicking; each press of a key makes me feel like I'm doing something important. But at the same time, I really enjoy the sound of pen scratching paper. All my first drafts are written that way. I keep them in a scattered mess about my room-- binders, notebooks, sheets of black pen defaced paper.
"And a thought crosses my mind", as Garth Brook's says in his song If Tomorrow Never Comes, but it isn't really tomorrow not coming that I'm pondering. I'm thinking about words really. How the simplicity of them is beautiful, but their interpretation changes based upon every reader. I think I am finally understanding why authors chose their words so brilliantly and so carefully.
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