Swings, extreme point to another, neither clocklike or evenly-metronome, thinking highly of oneself – more specifically, one’s writing – swinging between old-school defined success to dynamic change, while thinking lowly of oneself represents opposite, turmoiled (an invented word I like …) and exhilarated – awaiting joys, victories and cash flow rewards, but more compelled to leave some lasting mark on this world, if I leave any at all, feelings plastered pages or shouted out to some willing audience in a big room with a big stage.
More, I believe, controlled by internal navigation gyroscope through which life takes this writer, taking readers along, journeying through vagaries and unfulfilled exuberant discharges of thought and purpose.
On surface, neither early morning lake calm or mid-storm choppy sea, there exists a post to which thoughts are tethered like horses in a thunderstorm.
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