There are times I feel like I’m tapdancing in a minefield. Others, it’s all 3/4 time as I waltz through the day. And what is that old saying about angels dancing on a pinhead? The Universe decided to weigh in on this…
Indeed, anything is possible. Anything and everything, Silver! Yet it takes wisdom to understand that the potential for all things happening is not equally distributed.
Life has a rhythm; there’s already momentum. The world has needs and expectations as do you, creating some likelihoods that are vastly more predictable and smaller in number (though still infinite) than others. And for those who see this and work within these “likelihoods,” dancing to their own beat within life’s greater rhythm, heaven shall appear at their feet and abundance shall come as easily as breathing.
Alakazam,
The Universe
© http://www.tut.com ®No, Silver, I meant “heaven” metaphorically.
Just like life, writing also has a rhythm. There’s easy-going or snappy sentence structure, the ebb and flow between dialogue and narrative, the pacing of the plot. Characters act and react, grow and change, their fictional lives a well-choreographed ballet orchestrated by the author. There’s also a rhythm to the way words translate from the brain to fingertips to keyboard (or pen and paper if one prefers) that translates into word counts. There are times when the words pour from the imaginantion, the story flowing like a well-rehearsed Broadway musical. Then come the times when the words are like a shy girl sitting in the corner at the high school dance–hoping someone will come ask her to dance but not making it easy for any potential suitors. Lately, my words aren’t only wallflowers, they stayed home to read a good book. I need to lure them out with a good Argentine Tango, or even better, a foxtrot because I have thousands of words to write between now and then.
What dance are you doing today?
Silver James 
There’s definitely a rhythm to all this. I’m sitting it out right now. The music is off and the lights have come on, the dance floor is empty and there’s a janitor sweeping up. My muse left for drier climes. It’s all good, though. I’ll start the dance again sometime down the road a piece.
It’s raining again. Still. Feels like forever. I thought it stopped for a while yesterday, but when I went outside, it was mist instead of drops. The lake is just below the height where it’ll start creeping into the parking lot at my go-to spot. Welcome to Springtime in the Ozarks.
Even when the music is off, you manage to find the rhythm and poetry. Read your comment again and know that your way with words is like a samba. 😉