Writing and Not Writing

I always thought it would be good to have a job in which I might exercise my writing skills, but it never occurred to me to consider the drawbacks: namely that I would have less time and energy for the writing I actually wanted to do. One can only spend so much time writing after all. At least this is true if one does not mean to seal himself off from the world as a recluse, never seeing any face other than his own and that only if he were by chance to possess a mirror.

It is writing such as this that suffers most: that which seems least rewarding, as I cast my words out into the vast void of the internet, never knowing whom they might touch.

Stories still creep and crawl in the background, waiting under the damp earth for the spring water to coax them forth into life. That moment draws near with the dawn of National Novel Writing Month, that gloriously crazy month of November. Already the seed bursts with the first touch of water, waiting for the first day of the month to begin its hard struggle upward.