Writing Is My Drug Of Choice

The past couple of weeks have been keeping me occupied with my domestic responsibilities that I feared that dust might start building up on my laptop as it sat on my shelf.  I actually started feeling withdrawal symptoms from not writing, on par with the ones I’m experiencing become I’m going to have to go two months without The Walking Dead.  Could it be that for me, writing has become as essential to my well-being as breathing and coffee?


As I sit here with one of my boys who is home sick watching Regular Show, deciding that I really do not like this “Donut Shop” flavored coffee that came with my new Keurig, I wish I had stumbled upon this passion for writing twenty years ago.  I mean I’ve always enjoyed writing.  I used to try and write stories when I was in high school – unrealistic stories with no real conflict or plots – as a way of escape, but it never seemed like it could be anything more than a hobby.  I didn’t have time to dream of becoming a good and maybe famous writer when I was constantly reminded of reality.  And while I know that there is nothing wrong with finally discovering my calling, I can’t help but wish I had 20 years of legit writing experience under my belt.  Instead, life handed be 20 years of hilarity and shit to write about, and I can dream again… I’ve been doing it for five years now.

My dreams can sometimes be nightmares, however.  I cringe at my early poetry and scribblings and the Examiner articles I’ve written.  If you want to glance at some of my nightmares, you can find them here.  They are my rants and ramblings… my stepping stones to something better.  Haha – I #regretnothing.  (In fact, when I finish this, I’m going to go back a read a few of them because it’s been awhile.)  At least from writing those, I discovered that I don’t particularly enjoy writing articles.  I’d much rather write a novel.  So yeah, I’m growing…


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