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The joy of writing, the curse of the creative mind – the bane of inventive.

No really, it’s a love hate thing.

I love to write, it’s a joy to put words together, it’s a… A need I guess, because all these ideas just seem to pop up in my mind, and the situations, ideas, worlds… Maybe it’s not a need, maybe it’s more of a compulsion, all those characters and different voices shouting to be heard – for their story to be told… Demanding… Begging…  Complaining (at times).

Ok, so maybe at times it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone. At times it’s the hardest thing in the world to do, but you have to do it – because… Because the damn story is bugging you, the characters won’t go away – and the idea – the idea is burning in your mind. It’s all you can think about, dream about. It’s taken over your every waking moment. The idea, the story, is burning in the forefront of your mind and won’t go away, but refuses – absolutely refuses – to be written.

It’s maddening.

It drives you crazy.

A painful itch you cannot scratch.



It’s still a joy.

Because when all the elements come together, when the creative juices are flowing at full torrent, and the synapsis are doing a good job of translating and transferring data from brain to fingers (and fingers to keyboard)… Oh god yes… It can be euphoric… Hell, it’s almost orgasmic.

No, really.

Maybe that’s why it’s so addictive.

Maybe that’s why I can’t stop.