compulsive writer

i've been avoiding sitting down and writing here for a while because i simply had too much else to take care of in life. now i see i just banged off six entries in an hour and fifteen minutes. it's dangerous to let me near this computer thing.

i'm a compulsive writer. when i'm not writing here it's in one of a zillion notebooks i keep in strategic locations around the house. or in various clothes pockets. or in the backpack i always carry. i hate writing. but i love it. i hate trying to sit down and work on one of the novels i don't have nearly enough time to give over to. but i love every second that i can spend planning my next book (that i'll probably never get around to actually writing).

what would i do without words? i'm already a spastic babbler to anyone who'll listen, so i couldn't possibly get it all out of my system by speaking. now that i think about it that was one of the complaints that all of my early report cards exhibited. my teachers would ask my mother to bring me to school early so i could talk and get it out of my system before the bell rang. fat chance. i don't just talk about things that happened, but i am constantly doing a running commentary on the world around me. my wife stops me sometimes, laughing at how i can cut myself off twenty times in an endless string of digressions while barking and mumbling at everything and anything in eyeshot.

maybe that's why i write. because everyone i know has the common sense to get away from me as soon as possible lest i talk their eardrums raw. am i good writer? who knows. i'll keep doing it anyway simply because i have to.

{October 06, 2003 10:40 PM}