I have this need. This want. This hunger. To write.
Like breathing I need it to feed my brain. It's my thing.
When I don't write I find myself narrating everything.
"She goes to the store for bread..."
"We will see about the park today..."
You get the idea.
I have always been torn about writing with pen or keyboard...with technology always winning because it's easier, faster, and it makes me feel like maybe someday someone will read it. But then again maybe not and maybe all these blog posts are going into some sort of technology black hole oblivion...in that case, type on I say!
Then I have the need of convenience. Because what every writer can tell you, ideas come fast and hard and if you don't have a medium to use the ideas come and go before you have a chance to give them life. You feel deflated. Let down. I can't count how many notebooks I have stashed around in case something comes at me. When I die my kids will have to sift through all sorts of broken down notebooks with fragmented sentences and paragraphs. Maybe they'll get used someday.
I think I will always write. Can't help it. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself to create best-seller ideas when in fact I'm a short story kind if girl. Or short paragraph. Short sentence. Who knows. All I can say at this point is I'm a writer, and damn it, I'm gonna write.
How's that?
Like breathing I need it to feed my brain. It's my thing.
When I don't write I find myself narrating everything.
"She goes to the store for bread..."
"We will see about the park today..."
You get the idea.
I have always been torn about writing with pen or keyboard...with technology always winning because it's easier, faster, and it makes me feel like maybe someday someone will read it. But then again maybe not and maybe all these blog posts are going into some sort of technology black hole oblivion...in that case, type on I say!
Then I have the need of convenience. Because what every writer can tell you, ideas come fast and hard and if you don't have a medium to use the ideas come and go before you have a chance to give them life. You feel deflated. Let down. I can't count how many notebooks I have stashed around in case something comes at me. When I die my kids will have to sift through all sorts of broken down notebooks with fragmented sentences and paragraphs. Maybe they'll get used someday.
I think I will always write. Can't help it. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself to create best-seller ideas when in fact I'm a short story kind if girl. Or short paragraph. Short sentence. Who knows. All I can say at this point is I'm a writer, and damn it, I'm gonna write.
How's that?
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