Not Writing Stinks

My pen has gotten no action in several months, and although this is my fault, I have my reasons.

First, writing is more demanding than any other activity. Golfers must work overtime to afford their sport. Gamers zone out all social interference to access their fantasy realms. And knitting requires massive amounts of focus.

But writing, more than any other hobby or profession, steals the most energy from the human soul—like the sun as it beats down on the desert ground.

Not only does it pilfer energy, but it can devour time quicker than a fat man munching on dinner. With a wife, a newborn and several other responsibilities and hobbies, I’ve found myself writing less–much less.

I feel as though all those grueling nights and mornings and afternoon writing bouts were in vain. I feel as if I’ve lost the flair with which I once wrote. My pen has disengaged from my mind; the dance they once had is dead.

In conclusion, not writing stinks! The rush of my thoughts streaming through my fingers is euphoric, and I miss it. Hopefully, in 2012, my creative juices will be so epic that they’ll need an exit, and I’ll be forced to sit down and enjoy the art of a wordsmith.

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