I release my inner child to write with abandon and joy.
Childlike enthusiasm suffuses me.
The words spill forth, rushing to be noticed. Me! Me! Me! They shout. I’m here. Let’s play.
Words tumble out – no inner critic – no editor stifling the spontaneous writing of words, stories, and plots.
Words flow. They tumble. They exalt in their release.
Joy and delight fill my pages.
Writing is play for me – delightful, cheerful, exuberant play.
My joy acts as a phone line to transmit the words from my heart.