The hamsters that run amok in my mind were oddly contemplative today. Usually, they are skittery, gittery, balls of energy that are going twice the speed of light – definitely faster than my fingers can type.
Today, they were rooting around in the cellar of my memories. Uncovering things that were interesting, disturbing and odd. My own archaeological dig and I was the subject. How cool.
Bits and pieces of my earliest stories came to light. The echoes of the sting of my earliest detractors. A sweet triumph the first time I held some one captive with my own story. The power of falling in love with words. Written, spoken, sung. Each medium powerful in it’s own right.
My hamsters were busy little rodents, in their constructive excavations. Each treasure unearthed reminding me why I write.
I write because I AM.