Wisky - our family hunting dog would raise his ear lobes forward, ready to dash in the direction of the victim of the day.
Wisky was a German Sherperd. A relentless and energetic dog that could scent a deer a mile away.
When I write it flows like a river through my head and on to paper or electronically.
It is as though it was a Russ Feed of information or a conveyor belt.
Often, I don't have to think or reflect, regardless of the topic. Sometimes when I am writing prose, a poetic verse pops up and I have to stop and jot that down on a writing pad for later review.
Am I alone on this?
I really I am curious to know the kind of trance that other great authors find themselves in as they write, or don't they?
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