Inspiring AF insight from Mr Cave. His King Ink is a fascinating book.
My poetry and fictional stories seem to come from somewhere far outside my experience/myself. The words come unbidden, and my only job is to keep the ink flowing/hitting the keys, trying to keep up. Sometimes the words run through my mind like they’re intrusive thoughts. There are no pause nor review buttons.
I wrote a poem decades ago w/a line about wishing I could live where my Muse does.
