Stop Using the C-Word to Describe My Writing.

It denies the Elusive Ephemerality of my Spirit

Copenhagen lakes, summer 2016

When I write, I send a pail deep down into the well, plumbing the artesian depths.

Gefion statue, Langelinie, Copenhagen

I quiet my body, I sit completely still and I wait for the spirit to move me.

I reach back into my past for you. I dust off near-forgotten memories and share who I am with you. I reflect and watch the shapes inside me shimmer and coalesce. Then I try to tell you about them.

Near the lake pavillon Copenhagen.

To treat my work and that of my fellow writers as “filling” for empty columns or as anything other than the glorious exotic fruit grown in the fertile soil of our imagination is an insult.

Frederiksberg Gardens, Denmark

Using the c-word to describe my writing has connotations of grey homogenous sludge gushing out of a firehose and compensated for at a fraction of its…