Four hours into the new year and here I am whipping out a tab almost by instinct and then proceeding to pound on the keys like a madwoman attempting to comprehend her insanity.
It’s wonderful being able to write again. If there’s anything I am sure to never give up on, it’s this love affair with blank pages. It is just amazing how people claim writers are masters of language, when in fact all we do is arrange and re-arrange words in our heads until they make some sort of sense — maybe not to everyone else, but at least to us.
Let us keep telling stories old, new and yet to be given birth to.