I could never get paid to write. I’m not consistent. Writing doesn’t flow out of me every second of every day. I have no control over it. It comes out in random bursts.
Like when you’re a kid
and you eat too much sugar
and you get a crazy sugar high
and you feel like you’re on top of the world and no one can get you and everything that happens is magic and you’re alive.

But then you crash.

and you’re tired because everything being that amazing for those 2 hours really took a lot out of you.
And you didnt mean to, but you gave your whole self over to the sugar and were like a pint sized Tasmanian devil for those two blissful, sugar-filled hours.

So now you’re down,
it’s over,
everything is back to normal,
you’ve stop twirling around your living room floor and ended up a laughing heap of chocolate covered nothing on your mom’s favorite rug.
You’re content with laying there.

But its not like it wont happen again.
You rest up because of the belly ache your mom warned you about.

And then,
you’re better.

You’re eating sugar again as soon as you can.
You’re trying to fit 20 marshmallows into your mouth at once,
those Halloween “fun sized” candy bars go down like water,
one after the other, until your head is spinning and you’re ready to tear up the house again.

That is exactly how I experience my desire to write.
All at once, then not at all. But soon it’s back, and everything seems like magic.


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