December 20, 2000: My “Quills”

I could relate with the main characters methods of tossing thought to page—get it out! Fall prisoner not to the locked room but creativity itself. When will people understand that writing and any other form of creative flow is an addiction? It’s not a luxury to bring it to life! Our imaginations play the wickedness of travel—we’ve not sold our souls, we’re just sick people! I too hum when throwing ink to canvas! I too stare at the crystal vase to which my gold tipped nib sexually irritates. I fall into the depths of hell each night I sleep—my scars are only invisible to those who make me bleed. The begging for me to continue is in fact loud orders from the keeper…and just like a dog I’m slapped when piddle is found on the floor. For this writer, had run out of ink…and I needed something to paint with.