I wonder what I’m doing here on earth. I don’t think of it consciously often. It’s more of a basso continuo that keeps repeating under everything I do in a day. At night sometimes the floodgates open and I dream what I should be and want to be doing. And sometimes I just get a small, quiet nudge – yes, move in this direction. I know I am a writer. But how to put that to my best use? It doesn’t lie in writing for other people. That doesn’t pay enough to make me suffer through their content and try to make sense out of it. No, I’d rather be a big fool and write my own fiction, non-fiction, blog posts. Foolishly happy. That.

 

Be regular and orderly in
your life, so that you may be
violent and original in your work.

                        —Gustave Flaubert

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