I sit here, with a cup of rum beside me and an open notebook, wanting to write something. Two girls perch on the edge of my couch, as I slouch across a giant pillow on the floor.
I don't understand why I only get the urge to write when I am particularly down and out. Is the point of everything to prove that the stereotypes are true? To be a writer is to be depressed? I'd rather not, thanks though.
I sent an epically long email this afternoon, and it was more writing than I had done in a very long time. The more letters I write, the more I will be inspired to write.
One of my summer courses is an Ekphrasis course. It is a theory from Greek philosophy in which you respond to a piece of art with your own artform. We will be (hopefully) doing a great deal of writing and editing with feedback during the 7 week course. One can only hope.
