An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

This is the lounge a private room  where magic happens  and stories are written  where fates are decided I created you nurtured and shaped you but somehow, some way you took the reins and dictated your own destiny You found your voice told me all your secrets what I need to know what I need to do my pen continues its path. tonight you and me  sit opposite each other across the table  with glasses of champagne  in our hands

Seventeen days two weeks, three days a fortnight plus three it's quite a while. A lot can happen in this span of time life can change before you know it. A blink of an eye to a human a stretch of eternity to a fruit fly. To take up a habit or to give one up takes a lot of courage and a bit of patience. Seventeen days of pen to paper or fingers to keyboard consistency is the key.

Scribbles on paper marks on a screen backlit by white letters in black Arranged by date title and draft art in jpegs gifs with hard "g" Moving items to and fro does it look better here? before positioning it back where it was the first time. Some poems on scraps of paper from years back others electronic muses presided by iPad angels First draft, second draft, third still not exactly perfect tweak things here and there until it all comes together. Until it all becomes one nights spent piecing together this that and the next for others to read and enjoy.

Pen paralyzed on the page The words will not come the images remain stubborn not wanting to be transferred onto paper. Imagination fails me The memory of your lips your smile your laughter dim behind an invisible wall even though I see your visage every day. The colors are muted my brush freezes with indecision Why am I blocked from the flow from which I hone my craft?