Writing: the Gateway Drug

My hands hit the keyboard again and I felt as though they haven’t touched these rows of hard plastic in over twenty years. I write everyday whether the sun is shining or the cold and heavy showers of rain hurl down on top of me, but I feel as though this isn’t enough.

Continue reading “Writing: the Gateway Drug”

Whiny Worries

I’m really starting to realize that God wants me to write. No matter where I go or what I do, opportunities and instances where I’m forced to reconnect with my passion for this crazy occupation seems to creep up and slap me with vigor across my face.

I recently found myself walking around the other day on campus just searching for someone to tell me not to go through it. Yet still, questions about the future and what is yet to come plague my thoughts.

I have been given this overwhelming feeling of just really wanting to write. I don’t want to teach, I don’t want to advise confused students wandering around the campus hallways, and I don’t really want to do other things sort of related to writing that don’t actually involve writing.

My life has become a swirling mess of questions, but in the back of my mind, all I really want to do is rest my fingers on the home row keys and punch out interesting stories or make a difference with various words in which I organize together on paper.

I keep trying to find my way in the world without writing, but the world doesn’t want me to go on. God has intervened, placed an inky pen in my hand, and whispered in my ear for me to write

— dammit.