Shortly after I wrote my last blog, the Valley’s spring weather beckoned me to don flip flops, grab the laptop and venture onto my back patio to write.  A couple of dogs played the 101 Dalmations equivalent of “telephone” and a joy-filled warbler whistled to her heart’s content.  Soon I was lost in the click clacking on my keyboard and the scene taking shape across the monitor.  My daughter cracked open the door: “Are you still here?” 

I smiled as I finished a thought, and then turned my attention to her.  I felt as if I just emerged from a nap or, better yet, as if I recently soaked in a hot tub, a glass of wine at my fingertips.  In a moment of transparency I realized for me, writing equated to therapy.  I’m not sure when this pivotal moment actually occurred or if it was gradual, but right then I reveled in the feel-good emotions simply triggered by writing—the kind a good piece of chocolate or a mani and pedi invoke.  To receive such pleasure from the act of writing convinces me it’s something I cannot live without, like breathing and kisses.  And then I can’t help but wonder if I write hard enough and with enough passion, will I be able to bridge the distance between fantasy and reality?  I guess that’s for me to find out…one keystroke at a time and a glass of vino within arm’s reach. ~ cs