The rugged and exasperated, yet sing-song voice of soft lead or fluid ink speaking a story to the paper that can be told in no other way. The clean, earthen aroma of flawless, newly opened paper preparing to convert my ideas into not just a fictional tale, but a peacefully hectic alternate reality. A gravitational pull to and an emotional yearning for more of my own work, and then an overpowering sense of accomplishment when I fill a blank sheet of paper with my own fluent creative story, and see what I have created.

Breathlessly exhausting adventures wading through ideas that are clashing vehemently, desperately trying to be the dominate idea and win my heart with fervor. My favorite constructive escape from the world that grows more bittersweet with each piece of criticism and compliment alike. The treasured ability to be able to continue to write despite how frequently my hand cramps, and still have the self discipline to not effortlessly write my life away.

Being left with an empty mind while becoming rather irritated as a result of writer's block. Making one of my favorite characters do something so incredibly foolish it's unimaginable just to switch the story up and send the already twisted plot into another morbid, dark, downward spiral. The seemingly endless vicious circle of editing, revision, and repetitive drafting.

To you writing may be simple written composition, or maybe it's the act or process of one who writes. To me it's both. The best and worst thing about writing for me is the saddening thoughts that race through my mind as I reach the conclusion of a vivid piece of writing.