Drunk on Writing

Maybe this explains the obsession. The compulsion. The “have to” about writing.

Some of you know the feeling. Some don’t. And if you don’t already have the affliction, you probably won’t catch it. Like many things, it’s probably inborn, a matter of physics ~ how one’s electrons, protons and neutrons are arranged, pushing and lighting the way towards pen and paper (or keyboard). But wherever it comes from, I think it’s more an innate “must” than an out-and-out escape route from reality (although that can be a nice side effect) ~ after all, by nature, the act of writing is a private affair primarily between yourself, your muses, and usually a good thesaurus.

You can certainly learn to write. You may feel inspired to write. You may have a love of language. You may have things you want to say. Even if not unmistakably inclined, you can become a decent writer.

But if you don’t feel compelled, if you don’t want to write, if it’s a burden or a chore, if you don’t feel like you’re not breathing properly until you write ~ then you probably don’t have writer’s curse, in which a life without writing is an impossibly awful imagining.

As for me, I’ll take another round as long as I can assemble sentences. It’s a good kind of drunk. And I’m sure glad there are others who feel the same way, or what a dry world it would be.