Nowadays, words are my new Play Doh. This new medium has unending possibilities. Everyday, my vocabulary expands, fattening the gargantuan lexicon that resides in my brain, enriched constantly by my exposure to new languages and different authors. As I write, I experiment with structure, composition and sound; I test myself, seeing how far I can go before my own internal editor comes out with red pens blazing, ready to wreak havoc upon my modest little scribbling. Little phrases will pop into my head, which insist on their fundamental right to exist on paper, wanting to become a reality, instead of an ephemeral fluctuation in my brain.

This cerebral manipulation can produce moments of brilliance, yet there is always room for improvement. A sentence can be tweaked, an adjective lost, a semi-colon added; in essence, it exists in a constant state of flux, dependant on a writer’s impulsive whim, nipping one idea in the bud, and nurturing another, through extensive weeding and pruning, until this idea blooms into a glorious blossom that lives for a while, and then slowly fades, as other flowers come to take its place.

So maybe I can’t hold words in my hands and stretch them out into wild and crazy shapes, but they provide my brain a new means of creative expression, where anything can happen, where a crazy idea, with the right amount of guidance and diligence, can become something unique and memorable.