I’ve read so many books in my life. They have contributed to many of my deep thoughts, epiphanies and moments of wonder. Books are made of words and when artfully crafted they have brought meaning to my life so profound that words don’t do the feeling justice.
Words are never enough, because the truth is always bigger than the words we use to describe it.
With words and books come writers who are eventually authors. I don’t know if I can call myself an author or even a novelist before I have published a single word. I am, however, a writer through and through. It is my utter pleasure to be a writer and my sense of purpose to write has been at the core of everything that matters.
Perhaps none of this makes sense, but I am writing more for me than for you, Dear Reader. If there is any central thought in this ramble, it is this:
Writing is pure, blissful, aggravating, unconquerable, maddening, unadulterated joy.