Writting? Writing what? I can’t even write writing. Writing, written. That’s why I get confused… English.
A writer is me only if I write.
A writer. What does it mean, to me?
Writing. Am I right to write?
It’s hard. Writing for a living is hard, I heard. In my head.
Was it only ever in my head?
My body writes something and my mind hears something else.
Writing is cool, except when it’s not. Maybe it’s cool even when it isn’t, but for different reasons.
My ego likes writing. It’s a concept, an idea. “I am good at it”. What does that all mean?
What is an “I”, a “good “, an “it”. An “am“?
« Âme », in French, is “soul“.
How close are we to our soul when we say “I am“.
“I am” sad. No, you’re not, you “feel“ sad… But you are much more than “sad”.
“I am“ a writer… That and everything else… You write, you write!
Ha! Here’s the voice. I’ve been waiting for it to show just so I can soothe it a bit.
It thinks I am farting higher than my ass… as we say…
I don’t know… I just got sidetracked. The flow… Interrupted.
Higher. Grandeur… I’m not sure. The mind plays tricks all the time, that’s what it does. It wants you to do the safe thing. Count your money, double check your retirement account, get that refund. Greed? Fear…
My mind is afraid, but I love it. I can do it… With a little help from my friends. Writing is pleasant. Seeing the words, the shape they make. I won’t get as much pleasure out of typing. That’s maybe why I don’t do it as much. Maybe I’m not a writer…
Do you have to type your manuscript to be a writer? Maybe I could just speech-to-text it. It used to be called dictation. Writing – reading. Two sides of the coin.