Scribbles on countless pages. Notebooks. Old assignments. Post-its. My handwriting in margins, tiny and cramped, an attempt to collect my thoughts. Writing whenever and wherever the inspiration strikes or an idea takes hold, some like a lightening strike and some like a whisper. Various colors, various inks. Words then tumble out from my mind onto paper like unruly children.To put them in even, straight lines would take away their powerful individuality, their sharp descriptions. So instead I give them free reign, guiding my hand, finding even myself curious to see what they will create.
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