I forgot how much I love to write.

Writing is amazing, because the possibilities are immeasurable. You can find a thousand ways to express an idea, and the well never runs dry. "A woman holds something. She clutches, grips, grasps, clings, wields, clenches, embraces, and clasps it." One word, hold, opens the floodgates for a thousand variations. So, you carefully select the word that captures the moment, and then, you must decide what she does with it. "She throws it. She hides it. She keeps it. She curses it. She buries it. She kisses it." Each word leads to a different fork, a different end.

The creation of a story is a powerful thing. When I read a book, I feel like I've released a ghost into the atmosphere, to co-exist with the other specters of hundreds of thousands of books written throughout history. The communing of fictional characters floating high above the earth, brought to life in the minds of all the readers of all the ages.

The idea of liberating one of my own apparitions is astounding. And overwhelming. And intoxicating.