There, but for fortune, go you and I, you and I.
Once, A brilliant author with a questionable English accent, squinty eyes and a coaxing, classic style, told a well-read audience to write everyday. That to him, the idea of writers-block was ludicrous, because the idea of simply not writing was ludicrous. You must force yourself to write, and when you're done, you can strip and delete the ugliness.
now... other than the need to materialize my thoughts on this scrap of Internet every now and then, as well as some journalist aspirations, I am in no way a writer, nor do I ever want to be one. I'd much rather read than write, and I'd much rather know writers than ever be one, but for some strange reason or another, I find that idea right on the money for just about everything I've ever done.
Even if you don't want to do something, even if you feel like you can't, you do it anyway and change what you don't like about it later. Not trying, not doing, not going, not creating. eetz uh, nowt so good, hokay?
And hopefully I can use that sentiment to justify why I'm writing in le elle jay so much these days.
Anyway, despite my tragic Seaside dilemmas, I still managed to get to the beach yesterday.
=]
Only, instead of looking out over the Atlantic like every other summer day, I starred only at the sky and started to believe I was on the ceiling of the universe, longingly looking down, and if I let go, even for a second, I'd never stop falling.