I’ve been abandoning you all to my guest writers. This is because I’ve been having trouble writing anything. Frustrating.
Still having troubles writing. Kinda.
Not sure what id be doing today.
Well I’ll write on the spot.
Good luck!

————————
THE WEAVER

Mother looks at me with disappointment. Her thin lips fold downward as she shakes her head in silence.
I pretend like i can’t see her; head bent down.
We are sitting in the small living room. We’ve converted it into our work spaces.
She on her sewing machine, I on my typewriter.
On a normal evening, the cacophony of the clucking keys and the whirring machine lulls me into a near doze.
Today isn’t one of those days. We’ve had an argument again about my career.
Why won’t you follow my path? Be a seamstress. Stop living in a fool’s paradise. We cannot afford your hobby.
She never understood my need to write. She hasn’t even forgiven me for selling my meagre belongings to buy a deadbeat typewriter.
A waste of time, she hissed as she watched me clean my joy meticulously.
She sighs again and goes back to her sewing.
My fingers hover hesitantly on the keys.
I rip out the paper and insert a new one.

THE WEAVER.
I title the page.
I watch my mother out of the corner of my eyes as she works and the opening paragraph comes to me.

“Her head bent, she sews. My head bent, I write. A weaver of cloth; a weaver of words. Would she ever
realise we’re one and the same? Two different methods. But one purpose; Creation.”

I stop and smile.
I wonder if I’ll finish. I wonder if she’ll like it if she read it.

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