I’m writing in my head all the time. Well, actually not in my head. In my body. Since I’m constantly urging people to turn off their minds in their creative practice when I teach art, painting, creativity, vision board workshops, I can’t say I’m writing in my head. More of the torso, actually. I feel the words in my shoulders and chest, roughly. Not the wrists. Not the root chakra. Not my heart, really. But in my chest. They collect like Luna’s fur does on our concrete floor. At first it doesn’t seem like much–she’s a German Shorthaired Pointer, after all, so it doesn’t seem like there’d be a lot of fur. But after a few days it’s like a game of miniature pick-up sticks–white dashes covering the tobacco colored concrete. When I sweep it up–there’s enough fur that it looks like a medium-sized gerbil. And that’s just after two or three days.