Megan Norris Jones
Writing is like a fountain. Specifically, the fountain in our backyard, the one I stare at when the words aren’t flowing onto the paper quite as smoothly as the water flows from the basin of the fountain. Except, now that I stop to think about it, my writing process seems to work just like our fountain.
The fountain in our backyard was there when we bought the house, stacked stone encircling a pool of darting goldfish with a basin on a pedestal in the center. I had always wanted a fountain in my yard, a focal point of splashing coolness on hot summer days, a reminder of life in the dead of winter. It made the list of planned improvements for our last house, but the house was old and the list long, so “install a fountain” was just one of many items that never got crossed off. Continue reading
