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I want to write diamonds. I want molten gold to flow from my pen like lava. I want rubies to drop onto the page as if from my own less-than-ruby lips. I want pearls (containers of wisdom, if you believe what you hear)--I want pearls to drop from my mouth like lustrous round teeth. I want my writing to be a Klimt painting filled with gold and jewels. But I write stories instead.
If I knew how, my writing would be a pirate's treasure chest. I would condense my thoughts so intensely that they would become diamond-words under the pressure of my eons of patient living. My experiences would no longer be mere stories but a presence on the page, a heap of golden links like a pile of leaves, begging readers to jump into them. Leaping in and entangling themselves in those golden links, readers would emerge with emeralds in their locks and pearls in their mouths. Readers would rush to jump in and would emerge richissimo for having done so.
www.anntudor.ca
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