I know I’m a writer

I know I’m a writer

I feel so incredible, and this is how I know.

It’s how I know that I am supposed to be a writer or, as I prefer, a storyteller.

Yesterday I had a story present itself to me. This actually happens quite often, sometimes I will just jot it down in my idea book for later. Sometimes I even get started on a story. But this is only the second time that it felt like magic. I am smitten, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

My stomach clenches, my fingers type as fast as they can go. I can see the story happening in my mind, and I feverishly try to translate it to the page. I feel like a┬ámedium at a seance, entering a trance and seeing things before me that no one else can see. I am receiving messages from another realm. Luckily, my eyes don’t roll into the back of my head, and I don’t convulse (that would make it kind of hard to type, I think).

But it won’t leave me alone, like Sam Wheat wouldn’t leave Oda Mae Brown alone in ghost.


My brain is constantly churning, and my heart is pounding. And it feels great.

I don’t like roller coasters much and I would never ever (EVER!) skydive. Who needs to do that extreme (or should I say….extreeeeeeeeeeme) stuff when I can get this kind of rush without ever leaving my chair.

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