Some days I wish I had not been such a hard-headed mule and listened to those who said "forget about being a writer, it will never pay off" and found a passion in Wall-Street investments instead. Unfortunately, the blood through my veins is thick with ink (from those decades ago when computers were only found in secret government buildings) and writing I must do.
Perhaps it is easier to put thoughts on paper than in words because the only interruptions are the voices in my head.
Let me assure you that I have no valid diagnosis to cement any suspicions that may have crept up into your grey matter. By way of explanation, the voices in my head are the characters in almost finished novels begging me to finish up what started out as a very promising life (for them, of course).
Torturing the characters is not part of the agenda, even though sometimes, they require a little simmering before it is decided what route they will take. No, my friend, the problem is me and my inopportune life that requires time and attention.
Family has a way of grounding the restless soul and redirecting imagination into practical thinking.
(What a bore!) Practical thinking and concrete solutions to pressing problems seem to take precedence over creative writing every day.
Cramping my style upsets the charachters who languish in agony over their half-finished lives.
On the other hand, creative thinking can instill a sense of pride on being a trend setter by wearing different color socks. (laundry is never ending and you know what happens when a pair of socks is placed in the dryer).
One could even venture that we really don't need to eat every day, or even several times a day.
Perhaps they could extend the school day, or maybe, just maybe, we were wrong about this 24 hour thing and in reality I don't sneak out to write until 3:00 a.m.
Perhaps this is enough information for now. I hope to see you tomorrow.