It’s so much easier to read than write. Writing is hard. Darn hard. And yet so binding.
I sigh.
I stare at the page.
I don’t know what is coming next.
I takes great courage to make bad writing. It is so much easier to give up. To be a normal human being.
If you’re a writer, you will know it. Life should be simple, right? Because you know what you’re supposed to be doing, and so many people can’t even figure that out.
Wrong. Life is not simple for writers. Perhaps you know what you’re supposed to be doing, but you question why you are putting yourself through this "unnecessary" torment.
I sigh again.
I stare at a painting above my computer.
I think I know what’s coming next.
But I’m wrong.
I push through the mud and write again in a flurry. And I know again for sure
that I am a writer.
