Many thanks to Gina: http://ginasramblings.blogspot.com
She has sparked this blog topic.
I need a fix. Words. Lots of them. Flowing through my head. My fingers. My life. The right ones. Telling a story. Conveying feelings. Making it happen.
Being a writer is an addiction. And people who don't write, don't understand. They can say they do, but after a couple of minutes, it's obvious they don't. God bless them.
We can rattle on about contests, blogs, and the market. But it's Greek to them. We jabber on about form, style, editing, prose, and deadlines. Their eyes glaze over. Catatonic would be a nice description of their appearance at this point in time.
We are an entirely difference species, my friend.
None of my non-writing friends understand me. (Okay, small disclaimer. I'm not easy to understand anyway, but this doesn't help. Ya know)
I cannot possibly convey to them what writing means to me. To my life. It literally affects all areas of my world. It can be all-consuming. It can make a so-so day, great. And a wonderful day, crappy. It can make me walk on air or beat my head against a brick wall.
It's a sickness, aye. But who would trade it? Not one among us.
So yes. I need a fix. And you know what I mean.
10 months ago