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Saturday, 27 September 2014

I AM WRITING: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Instead of posting a rant, I decided to try a short blog entry. Gasp. What's this? Writers are human?
   Well, not the ones who send me spam. For they are robots.
   And there are borderline cases. You know. Writers who go out of their way to type like robots. I don't mean with robotic voices. Hell, maybe I do mean that.
   Writers are human. Very. We all go through tough times. Rough times. Some of us go through rough tough times at the same time. Life is bad enough when it gets nasty, without coincidental bad timing hitting everyone.
   Then we throw in that coincidental bad timing too. At that point, even wordy coves don't have the words.
   To all writers who say I am writing, or who use the #amwriting hashtag on the Twitter...
   We have to deal with things. And our scribbling colleagues have to deal with things. When people who are already having a tough time turn around and wish you well while you are having a tough time of your own...
   You've made writer friends.
   They are infuriating. I know that, because I am told that's what I am. Much to my surprise, I am also told I am a good guy and a nice person.
   All three regular readers of my blog know that this is a grumpy place. I snarl at cute puppies and stub out illegal cigars by burying them coffin-deep in the ice cream treats of pink-clad doe-eyed children. Some of whom are female.
   To all writers.
   If you are having a tough time, I am thinking of you right now. We live our lives as we write. Sometimes it is hard to keep going with the writing side of things.
   Keep going.
   I am writing.
   And I hope you are writing, too.

*

I don't do that thing with the cigars. That was fiction. You knew that. But I had to say. You knew that, as well.
   

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