Tonight I’m remembering why I write –

How I can’t not write.

Tonight I’m thankful for being a writer,

For the moments when “writing down the bones”

Was all I had.

When capturing the here and now

Was the closest I could come to imagining a future.

Tonight I’m grateful for the free moments

Writing conjures

And the self it allows me to be.


And here are the parts I cut out (it’s all about that letting go…):

Tonight I’m tired

And snarky

And not feeling particularly generous…

And letting go of those who write merely for the “stuff.”

Those who take no pride in the words on the screen

And can’t even bother to spell check or proofread.

Even a little bit.

Tonight I’m ignoring the climbers, the step-upons

The swag-whores and backstabbers.


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