Writing is not exact. Writing is never finished, but when it has wings, you know.

With my life as it is, writing often occurs in five-minute bursts to tether the thoughts floating in my head. Like grabbing at strings of balloons before they float away. I may not have time to give it wings, but I try to give it legs to carry it where it needs to go.

Commentary: I was aware of the mixed metaphor prior to posting. The irony was perfect so I left it. That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?

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