Let the jelly beans roll.

She noticed recently as she sat at her desk that writing was like a battle of wits waged in a childs nursery. First come the words, appearing like the fortunes in Magic 8 Balls, out of the ethos onto the screen. Once thrown, in their tangled madness, onto the crisp white page, they need to be moved around, different houses found for each of them, like a slider puzzle, again and again, until they make a viable picture, the tail of the horse no longer where the nose was, the ear an ear, a hoof a hoof. The battle part takes place between two voices, like the devil and the angel sitting on either shoulder jostling to be heard. One belongs to a very successful writer whom she knows about town, the other to one of her best friends since she was 11 years old. Through no fault of his own the former brings her great self-doubt, she will suffer, every word being pulled out of her like a boot from muddy sludge. Meanwhile, if she mails the letter to her best friend the jelly beans are let loose to roll down the big green hill, giving herself permission to be silly, letting go of crippling judgment and play fighting with the words in a child-like freedom as they all struggle to make a story together.