Fresh coffee, breakfast and a cigarette. I used to associate all three together as a near perfect moment. Now, I hardly drink coffee, stopped smoking in ’81, but I still get that same feeling when I sit down for breakfast. It all comes back.

Writing is fun, writing is emotional, writing hits you where it hurts and laughs about it. It’s a friend, an enemy, a cramp that wakes you up out of a deep sleep. It dares you to flinch and embraces you when you’re feeling down.

I tried living without it — it didn’t work. I wept inwardly and longed for its touch. Today, we’re back together and I think we’ll be alright.

Writing is what I do after I take care of breathing.

Thanks for the article. 😉