Exhale

Writing. I rather enjoy the craft.

It moves forward, sometimes at breakneck speed, sometimes pacing a snail; ever forward it moves, much like time, the tale cannot be halted.

I find that I do it instinctively, I don’t stop and think, oh here I need a semi-colon or oh dear a gerund cannot start a sentence.

I just write. And as I write the story of a man that never was, I write a bit of my own. I take risks, I reveal truths, I find myself a little more with each word.

I cannot believe I ever considered doing anything else with my life.

I write. I write words. I write words that become something greater than themselves alone on a page. They become something from nothing. It’s my gift back to the original creator; my humble attempts to be like unto he that created me.

In the beginning there was nothing.

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