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No they’re not patterns they’re words; coherent words, on a page.

Time, the one thing there is never enough of. Well today I had some time on my own, my partner on the late shift, our son off to his friends after school. I arrived home from work to a silence that was full of promise; time, seconds and minutes stretching into uninterrupted hours, just for me and my imagination, me and my mind.

I’d planned to practice some writing exercises, doodling the afternoon away. Instead I’ve filled several pages on my allusive character; my witch’s father, the sorcerer.

I don’t think there are adjectives enough to describe how good it feels; unblocking that wall.

His part is becoming clear, his story coming to light. So many mini stories I seem to have written, one for each character. Some short, others long, and all waiting patiently like squares for a quilt, waiting to be stitched together, for the words to be woven into the full story.

I’m enjoying it too, even though I’ve no clear idea how it ends the journey is proving enough.

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