I speak. I write. In the same way.

Wondering. Wondering. What makes a good editor? I've worked for many. But I prefer one. Above all others. Me. Doesn't bother me. Being my own editor. Of course, that doesn't make me a good writer. But then, I don't have to be considered good. By others, that is.  I'd rather experiment. And be considered bad. I'm not out to satisfy others. Including editors. Or composition teachers. I don't even have to satisfy myself.  Though often I do. By breaking rules. I think. About writing. Other ways to say/write about what I'm trying to say/write. That's how I got into writing love letters. One of my specialties. Particularly love letters to my Italian true love. The letters occasionally take on weird forms. They can ramble. Some of my love letters aren't written. They're spoken. On the spur of the moment. In her presence. Maybe while we are walking on the seashore. They can be long, spoken love letters. Lasting an hour. Sometimes, she feels overwhelmed. Not necessarily by the sentiment. But by the length. The endless chatter. But sentiment is always laced in. There for the catching. Oh, so spontaneous. I can write like that, too. Often, I'm told that I speak in the same manner that I write. That's a compliment, I think. --Jim Broede