The Life Of A Writer

Somedays, I feel like a human printing press...

So I’m liking the life of a Journalist so far since I finally decided to get my ass in gear and actually pursue this thing. Aside from certain variables that threatened to de-rail this entire thing, I have decided to adopt a write-or-die-trying philosophy. Of course, I’m not at all saying that I’m guaranteed to be successful at it, but at this point I would settle for being a moderately successful writer, because it’s better than not writing at all. It’s a strange thing with me and I can only describe it as a pressure valve that needs to be constantly released or else the engine room will blow up. Since writing, at least in an honest way, is all about conveying emotions and a feeling, those emotions apparently build up over time inside of me and as I mentioned, I need to have that release, or else.

After all of the writing that I have done just in the last six months alone I have concluded that writing, for me, is absolutely therapeutic. It heals to a certain extent, and clears the mind of the expression that wells up inside of me like a high pressure gas well. If that expression doesn’t find a voice, then my own psyche will revolt on me. I can also compare it going through life with a gun to my head. If I write, no problem, but if I don’t, then lookout. I guess it has come to a head with me and my psyche because at this point, my bottle is full and can’t hold anymore so the pressure must be released somehow, someway.
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Writing will save me from this fate...

Writing, finally, helps to relieve the pressure and provides my very own psychological therapy, sans thousands of dollars and wasted time on a shrink’s couch. 😉

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