December 2000: I write short fiction and poetry and have a collection that goes back
about six years. An early self educated writer, I later went on to
college to gain a degree in English and Creative Writing (1998). After
college, exhausted, I spun myself into a ball of observation that
carried with it a writer's block. I tried to move from its grasp but, --
as writer's we know, and being so self critical of our work -- my
night's words appeared to me as rubble in the morning. I guess this is
what we call the "struggle" in our description of ourselves. I have been
wasting my gift on everyday news reporting, only occasionally sitting
again at a typewriter and spilling thoughts onto paper. Unless I find my
own private island, a few friends and enough Vodka to drink for a few
years, I will be doomed to write in short spurts of expression that, God
willing, will wind up to be dribble on paper, only to further my
appreciation of humility. I need to submerse myself in an environment
where I will feed naturally. Now I want to be a part of what is being
offered.
Go to "To Time"
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