Each morning a zombie rises, moaning, and groaning it stumbles downstairs to its laboratory. The zombie staggers to the coffeepot. Flailing arms create splashing water, and coffee grounds litter the countertop like confetti on New Year’s Eve. It grumbles and waits, then fills a cup with wake-up juice.
A sip of the black witch’s brew and the transformation begins. My eyelids separate, the world comes into focus, and I see my goals on the horizon.
I consider my options. I could swim, build a boat, rent a wave runner, find a ferry, or book a seat on a private jet. The exact method is whichever one moves me forward, advancing me closer to my goal. I know I must act because I am not content to stand on the shore and dream.
How will you cross the sea?
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer