Beginnings

A blank page is sacred. It is pure, innocent, and wildly flirtatious. Like a woman dressed in lace, the page invites scribbles to color its virgin name in order to create something beautiful. A passionate romantic, the writer is eager to seduce the page and record robust passages on its bosom. Writing is a sensual and erotic art. While impassioned, it is also erratic and extremely unpredictable. A piece may begin with one intention and end somewhere completely different. That is the beauty and horror of writing. Once a mark is made, there is no turning back. Words are immortal. They thrive on the page eternally, inviting all to see. 

So, where is all this sexual rambling headed? Dear reader, I am not quite sure I know the answer. As a writer I am eager to color the page with my own scribbles: my thoughts, dreams, apprehensions and frustrations, but where is it all headed? What direction is this writing assignment moving toward? For now I have no direction. I simply plan to let the pen decide that for me. This may end up being a fantastical collection of randomness or a complete train wreck. We shall see where the road takes us. Just know that this the beginning.