Confessions of a Freewriter

Many things can lead us to believe we live a double life. Put your work clothes on and paste on that eight hour smile. You step into your party dress and on comes Ms. Sociable. I sometimes feel like a radio voice booming over the speakers in an empty room because that's the (semi)fearless orator in me.

But in all truth, I'm the silent watcher who negotiates for the corner booth so I can watch, listen and observe the faces, hands and shoes that cross the threshold of the dinor.

The writer "me" climbs up top my soapbox, mountain, podium, throne and exhalts for a moment how fresh the air up here is, or wonders how the rest of the world manages without my eagle muse eyes.

The little girl in me hides behind my mother's chair with my sticky fingers covering my mouth as I giggle in sweet mirth at all I got away with RIGHT before I hear Dad's car wheels crunch up into the drive.

Yes, I'm a prime example of a double life as I tap my keys and watch magic words pop onto the screen. The something-from-nothing of a freewriters ticket to five minutes of racing down the strip with no policemen in sight. Yes, she's at war with the Grammartarian screaming, slow down and obey stop lights.

I rev my engine and hit the horn extra hard because I'm livin' dangerous for five minutes (at least).

Freewrite inspired by @carolkean.

Digital art created in a five minute Medibabg session last night before bed.

This is my five minute freewrite using prompt double life.

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