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The intoxication of seamless words arranged in faultless harmony perpetually delights my literary senses like a fine wine rolling across a discerning tongue. For as long as I can remember, I’ve drooled over phonetic infusions, becoming mindfully euphoric when flawless endeavor sustains my avid writing addiction.
A passionate embrace, a perfect rose, or a plateful of Cajun-spiked gulf shrimp, all evoke similar responses, but only the collaboration of well-chosen words can arouse my mental pleasure zone.
Manifested writing elicits curiosity regarding an author’s inspiration. Many great writers describe their muses with the affectionate dependability of an intimate friend. Their disciplined relationships reliably sustaining flawless style allows me to track my own fleeting steps toward literary perfection. The significance of morning clarity, evening calm, superb music and self-imposed solitude further the cause. Enticed by the creative quest, I adopt a mantra focused on literary nirvana — the moment of truth when all will be revealed.
Poised for enlightenment, subsequent days are welcomed with youthful verve, responsive to each subliminal sign. Transcendence endows a wilted rose, a dispassionate glance or yesterday’s tuna casserole with the power to ignite my thoughts.
Revelations prognosticate a wise world where the disadvantaged offer the most insight into our self-inflicted wounds. Creative response pulsates within me as writing hurdles are conquered far from any beaten path. Surrendering pretense unearths a treasure trove sustained by my sensual muse, sagaciously guiding my nomadic pilgrimage.
Acknowledging her presence provides a fresh set of eyes to seek the messages hidden within the recesses of lives unfolding.
Inspiration? It’s just a glance away.