I like playing with words. I like stretching them out like Silly Putty, molding them like Play-Doh, and assembling them into new formations like Legos.
Words are literary toys to toy with. I can make them dance like marionettes, line them up like dominoes, or turn them for a surprise—not unlike a jack-in-the-box.
Words make amusing playthings. They are lock, key, and door—question, reason, and answer. Writing is like solving an evolving puzzle. The permutations are multifaceted and infinite. No piece is wrong.
Words are an engaging activity. Instead of paints and crayons, I craft images with text and punctuation. Writing can be a game, a daydream, an awakening, or a labor of love. Words can be sharp, translucent, succulent, or soft.
Some wear masks and costumes; I play dress up with words. They can be witty, tender, or severe. They can act on behalf of thought, love, hurt, or anger.
Some words are comforting companions. I hug them close and often like a favorite teddy bear. I played with Barbie dolls when I was younger, but I also wrote plays for them.
Words are the building blocks of my mind—helping me construct and deconstruct life. Bridging the gap between my reality and my dreams. Drawing a line between the intuited and the seen.
Playing with words is serious work, but not so serious that it ceases to be fun. Words can create a character, a family, a landscape, or a universe. Writing is the vehicle (batteries included) that drives my imagination forward.