The first, hesitant steps you take…

Unsure, but plodding on, refusing to quit. Mind attuned to one single reality. To put pen to paper. To push limits, despite the voices that scream at you to stop. Despite the taunts, the blank stares, the challening looks, despite everything, you still crawl early in the morning, at 5.00 AM sharp, everyday, day in, day out. Whether you get a spark or not, whether you you have the plot threshed out or not. The ink in the pen pulsates with joy, flowing through your veins. The ink throbs in the veins, mixed with your blood. Words flow, sometimes with pain, sometimes with delight at having been let out into the light. Dark, brooding words full of stench, smelling of birth pangs. Small beautiful words that radiate a warmth of love, smelling of milky skin. Wily, devious words that squirm like filthy snakes, full of muck…

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