i am a conspiracy theorist, because
  i see what others fail to… because
  of life-long worries and because
  of a heightened awareness.
i know that there are governmental
  big brothers dying to give me a
  wedgy and i know that there are
  people watching… every moment,
  every breath, every time i go for
  a crap.
people are capable of such atrocities
  and invasions of my privacy… i am
  fully aware of this.
they hide cameras behind mirrors in
  their bathrooms and laugh at me
  whenever i have to go.
medicine cabinets are easier to open
  and check… however full-size mirrors
  screwed into the wall take
  considerably longer to take down.
i must say that i am tired of having to
  make excuses for my lengthy
  bathroom excursions… and it would
  be nice if not every one of my
  friends thought i was perpetually
  suffering from constipation.

Write about a goal.

We are back from our holidays.  Some of you may have noticed that there were no new entries for several weeks, due to an agreed break (by our staff). 

Despite a desperate need to continually write (which I wrote about in my last editorial), it is equally important to take time off and explore the world.  What we bring back from these experiences enrich our writing beyond measure.

Writing, much like any creative art form, has the potential to become stagnant.  A writer is only as good as his knowledge and life experiences.  Certainly one’s imagination plays a large part in how we create, but despite ourselves, this imagination is still most often rooted in some form of reality.  The more we know and have seen, the more broad our pool of knowledge can be.  This allows us to draw far more from it, which translates into richer stories.

I have come to accept that I
tell a decent story.

This may sound like a strange
statement to some… perhaps
especially those who would
like such a talent.

However what I would truly
love is to dance with
the language… to press my
hand gently, yet decidely upon
its back and sway with it
upon a page.

I came to the conclusion a few weeks back that I cannot write.  I am but a babe at the foot of giants whose literary works leave me breathless and confused.

I want to make it very clear that I am not being melodramatic, nor am I seeking any type of encouragement.  I am merely voicing what has been going on in my mind for several weeks now.