Writing About Writing

Ah old friend. Here you are again. That voice that begins as a whisper and builds to a shout saying “write…WRITE”. It is still feeling like writing is only half finished when all I create just sits in my laptop folders, with neatly, methodically labelled titles, never read by anyone, not even myself. Is the writing solely a necessary vent for me to express what spins around and around my brainmeat, or is there something that needs to be written for someone else to connect to? Is this only for me?