Oh the things I could do with the kiss of the ink! The private conversations I could have in my mind, the passageways and dark, locked rooms I could walk down and the things I could see! How could any connection with anyone ever match the kiss of the ink? The smell of it. The urgency to get it down on paper, the scrawl and the magic, the creation from blank, the creation of lives that were simply not there before we drew our pens across the page in sunshine and in rain, after deaths and before births, in sickness and in health ‘til death us do part from our pens. Oh the eroticism of this gift – given for free unlike sex. The thrill of creating something immortal, endless opportunities to create and play with your colourful creations, flying off the pages from your mind to the pen to the page to other people’s minds. What greater magic is there than this transformational lexical alchemy? The kiss of the ink is the foreplay. You pick up the book, we connect on some level and you are never quite the same again. I birth something in your mind with my pen and it’s too late to put the book down. It’s already happened, this trifling with your mind, this twisting of your thoughts, your writing imagination pinned under my pen. It is mightier than the sword because it penetrates the mind without killing the spirit.
Final draft ready for publishers after some alchemy this week.