…is not much these days. The Random Highbrow is up, and I’m pleased to be right before Brenda Schmidt. Her sonnet is amazing!
A friend has asked me many times why he writes, why I write, why anyone writes. I always say it doesn’t matter why, but that they do, for their own reasons. Why worry about the intangible? Worrying about why seems unimportant, or maybe this is just me. Tonight I’m thinking about the living, the life/art of any writer, the irrational reasoning in it, around it, the framework of it, and, I’m thinking, that much like writing, maybe life is something we just have to do. Maybe life is the one extraordinary metpahor we need to keep writing.
Tell your friend that some writers write because they can’t not write!
I agree. Thinking why is unimaginable.
How romantic. I still don’t believe it. I hate this fundamentalism. Go join the army… or the Christians… or the Christian Army.
It’s a choice, like anything else–rational or not.
PS – I am really living the rockstar life today. If I only had a hotel room to trash…
Ya, right, some choice. Write or die a little more each day…
Every time I miss a day of writing I day a little more inside… *gags*
It’s late… I meant DIE not day…