dig deep...

what is it about writing that still pulls me back again and again, like a gaming addict returning to the internet cafe? i thought i've gotten rid of the writing affliction since i graduated from college and scratched out a bourgeois lifestyle as an "esteemed" junior diplomat, occasionally getting steamed by a boss or two in the foreign service. it was an existence so compromised that i just had to get out after 6 years of deluding myself. i am no diplomat, far from it. there were lots of opportunities to write in that career, but my writings were so devoid of poetic lyricism or creative garnishing that i might as well have used the hard copy to wrap stinky dried squid in. six years of telegraphic writing may have dried up my creative juices beyond repair, draining my deepest literary aquifers.

at this stage, i still fancy myself a budding writer. i'm now thirty-four, way past spring to "bud." either i grab this addiction and tame this proclivity to write, write, write...or i suffer at a distance from the muse i so detest, then love, then detest.

dig deep, love. it's time to sharpen those pencils.

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