Home again, home again Jiggety-jig.
About I feel. It has been a long and busy weekend. Be is ever so humble there is no place like home.
Something I need to think about as I write this current story. What does home mean to me, what does it mean to my character?
Is home something we carry within us? is it a place? any place as long as it has item “x”? or a person? The old saying home is where the heart is, could mean a few things. It could mean one you keep in a jar, on a high shelf, out of the way, its preservation fluid perhaps darkened with age. If you take it with you will you always be home?
And as with Omar, there was a disturbance and I have totally lost track of that train of thought. Sounds like a story to follow up on later. Right now, I am really tired and have be at my corporate gig at six a.m. I believe the answer to life for the next few hours is horizontal.
Thanks for reading,
Ernest
When My Worlds Collide 