The deluge of words begin as the first key is pressed. Soon, the pounding of the words and letters that express life and meaning flow like a river.

This is my life as a writer. It's odd that I should write about my life as a writer, but that's what I do. With each heart beat and stroke of the pen and quill I evolve the story of man and woman into the kind of exotic quality dreams are made of. With each pound of the keys, a hidden story is exposed and betrayed to the monsters that devour by daylight of words. The idea is to keep writing no matter what happens, that the constant flow of words somehow helps the mind to clear. I would consider this a small exercise where I would let out my own demons from within.

The words never end no matter where I am. Never has a
day gone by where I do not have in my mind a story of people or persons that intrigues the mind itself. The things dreams are made of is always there. As a lesson in history one artist would hold a pin in his hand and fall asleep in the chair with his art supplies ready. He would fall asleep until an image came to mind and he would drop his pin from sleep and wake up to draw his new masterpiece. So is life in writing. We sleep in our own lives that seem so very dull and calm in many respects because we can never anticipate the dullness compared to the bustling activity of the mind. We think too much perhaps as our hearts wander from here to there finding obscure details that drive most men mad to make story to calm their hearts and souls.

But why stop there? Perhaps I could tell you a quick short story. The year is 1765, and the story is one that never dies. It is the beauty of all we love. The daughter of a royal duchess is to be married to a well known lord. It is an arranged marriage. How the fires of love do rage as she must be forced to love this man. She be only 15 and now her life has unfolded before her to one of isolation and fear.

With no recourse, the human soul at times does remarkable things to achieve
the deepest desire of all. We steal the hearts and souls of our enemies so that what was once desirable is now a thing long hated. The hatred for love and it's burdens is no thing to be trifled. For Ashlei had within her a heart of pureness but a force and will of that of a tiger, pouncing on it's prey but for life.

But suddenly the story ends. Why? Because it lacks details. Maybe more can be added but never at the same moment. Things must flow. At a later time, the fragments of thought will part and form to show the author a true masterpiece but until then all things must happen by order and chaos.

Stale. Things get stale to quickly. It is our job to keep society alive by thoughts, words and emotions. We are the blood of society, and art and imagination is our soul. We feel the entire world with our letters and words, and the world simply follows along with eager minds and hearts.

The soul itself would show yourself no boundaries, but it would lie. The boundary of our own minds lay within the barren wasteland of gray matter and things unknown and unseen. Our thoughts, our actions all betray us by a simple desire: Ours. Not an emotion or desire but the fact that it is "Ours". What we want, no what it may be for we want it.

Better to let a man die than be a slave to the mind. True or false? What sort of mind did you have in mind? His or another's? Either can be evil in form known to all of us by the purest thoughts made black by the slightest desire. Evil takes less to do than good. But good for all it does lasts longer than evil.

The fingers grow tired, and the yes will start to waiver in their appreciation of words as the quotient of life is about to end for a story long known. The Red Dragon Of Rendaphalei would say that life is not what you ask for, but deal with it you must. He would also say death is unavoidable, but cheat it you must or feel cheated you will. There was one man who said time is a stalker who waits for us as a hunter. Others say it is a companion there for the journey. which is true? Neither. Time does not exist. The universe is in perpetual motion and things will never be the same. Time is only the perception of events, therefore if you do not perceive then there is no change. Time would have us think we have none left, and many would say we have little. But they are the blinded,
for only the liberated see time for what it is like money. Control of things to come and things that pass.

Do not bother me with wealth or riches because I have all. Wisdom I seek. The words of old of a man who wanted knowledge because of what he lacked within his soul. A king who knew he could not judge without the ability to know. For this he was granted both.

What brave words could one say to death? What power can you hold? A secret is the ultimate power. For you can laugh in death's face to say that neither you nor the bringer of you will ever know my secret, and even though I shall take it to my grave, you will take it to your mind for a taunt and haunting for your life, which is longer than I have. The secret not told was something that any man could have. But to keep it was unique. It could keep a man safe by giving it away or it could seal another's fate if kept until death. Death....is merely a passing. A passing of which there is no returning, but beyond there is no pain.

History stares at us like pyramids stuck in he sands of time so long that time has no meaning, there is no death for them, they will last forever. How many secrets lost how many treasures gained and how many stories told? For there will be no end in these stories. But I can say for now this story will end, for a brief moment the mind looked at all that was possible. But what is possible only lies within the heart that cares, the soul that lives on in memory, the one you carry within you. A morale story? No, a truth that only the soul within you can decide your future. For the true halls of justice will have it no other way.

Now footsteps grow louder and closer. My daughter enters the room with eyes
of pearls. She is 8 years old and the one thing in my life that is truly precious. I look up at her and she smiles with a smile that
says no matter what happens, she is always there. Take care my dear
Acushala, you will one day take flight, but until then will hold you close to me for fear you will break your wings.

Life has rewards, but one of mine will always seeing life as it folds out with no stories, because life is the greatest story ever told. No writer could do better, not even if they wrote it all down. Life is a event that surpasses none other than life itself.

William Chester.