I would bet that I’m not alone in this.

Writing for the sake of writing, just to be able to say something, and as odd as this is all rhyming, truth is, writing is and can be very liberating.

But do you have those nights, or mornings where you cannot sleep, and instead you find yourself deep in thought, often hearing yourself have the perfect idea for a piece, may it be a poem, or an essay, or a story. Whether fictional or not, you find yourself, most importantly, up at the weirdest hours of the day – I believe that I am not alone.

Ironically, there is also the difficulty that once you start writing, you second-guess yourself. You start thinking that you’re about to write something that can be surmised in one word – crap. Or shit. Or whatever one-word descriptions you can think of.

Writing is a terrible mistress; one that can be ridiculously moody, or can be inspired with a single thought.

Writing can make a man who can’t draw stick figures to save his life paint vivid pictures and colorful scenarios.

Writing can duplicate, if not elaborate, or justify language, may it be dialogue, or a re-telling of a story.

But of all these things, writing can be, and is, freedom.

And so far, it has been my therapy, regardless if I have an audience or not.