Outside the sky is that nondescript shade of gray that could be any time of morning or night.  There are a few clues that it’s morning though.  First, my eyes are burning because I don’t really sleep and they’re telling me it’s too early to be staring at the computer screen already.  Second, I have a very large cup of coffee in front of me.  Third, my constant headache is swirling its way back to the surface along with my to-list and what I want to write today.  Definitely morning.

So I’ve been thinking about what to write.  Do I write about writing?  Or should I write about something I would like to read?  First I think I should get another cup of coffee because I sat here a pondered so long it took the first cup to get here.  Okay.  I’m good now.

Here is there ever-present joy and pain of writing.  You take one arbitrary thought from your mind and tease it out into a whole world and fill it up with people.  Then you pick just a couple of those people and nurture them into whole beings that you guide through a series of pitfalls, making them ever greater people, growing their hearts and spirits until they’re real to you.  You let them win because by then you can’t let them fail.  You let them fall in love because you don’t want them to be lonely.  Then you tie that part of their life up in a neat package and type The End and hope someone loves them as much as you do.  Joy and pain.  That’s what writing is.  You have to do it.  It’s a compulsion, a drug, a silver laced dream with nightmares on the fringes that just wait for a moment of weakness to descend.  Don’t let the rejections get you, there will be acceptances too.

There’s my dose of dark for the day.  I handed out a dose of light too.  😉   If you really love it, you get better and keep doing it.  Am I right?

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