Writing is like flying. Sometimes you soar, outracing the wind, watching the little earth-bound creatures crawl far below.
Writing is like falling, helpless, spinning, waiting to crash against the ground, splat.
Writing is like singing, opera or rock-and-roll, jazz scat or lullabies. You make a sound that is all your own, perfect or perfectly off-key.
Writing is like crying, or laughing, shouting or murmuring, speaking in rhythm with the breath of the world.
Writing is like breathing. When you stop, you die. Or a part of you dies.
Writing is like dreaming.
Follow your dreams.