Back_of_Head_Cropped; JR Frieman
The Saga of My Perspective is a “Twist of the Imagination”.
Now is the time to awaken the resting soul of creativeness and start the process of giving birth to the story. A flash of light appears above the author’s head, adding enlightenment to the saga being formulated for each spectator to read. The sentences may be compared to long strands of hair; clean yet lengthy possessing a style unique to an individual’s perspective. A twist of the imagination compares to the twist of the hair in a metaphorical perspective. The sketched window doodled on the left side of the brain illustrates the escape route taken by the imagination just before the sketched window mysteriously and miraculously opens due to the natural occurring of the Red Sea’s accomplishment. Is this in reference to a natural parting? Perhaps so. Another perspective to consider is the definition of the word “opening”. The opening water’s width in comparison to thick strands of hair symbolically depicted as “neurons” assist the traveling concept along the path of fiction. The “hairlike” strands of neurons serve their duty perfectly.
The saga rests. It needs a path to tread upon.
The kettle on the stove is whistling, alerting me that it is time to make some tea. Add some squeezed lemon, turbinado sugar and room temperature water. Then refrigerate and sample hours later.Would this be the recipe for writing a story from the annals of the right side of the brain? No, the subject matter is irrelevant compared to the concept. Walk along the corridor of the “old school” lodged within the head donning the twisted, neatly cropped hair and discover what arises. The “buried treasure” can be resurrected and serve its purpose in the unending saga of fiction writing by the unknown and poor fiction writer.
The observer is seated on the rocks looking toward the tall lighthouse situated near the ocean. She speaks, “On the waterfront I see a beam of light penetrating the fog. The mist just parts as if Moses had parted the Red Sea. In the distance I hear the sound of the fog horn. This is a warning telling us to vacate!”
The window gives the spectator a view outside. Permit the fresh air to enter. The pen drawn window is closed. Open the window; let the salt air caress one’s face.