Writing is like a drug (believe me I know) it produces an organized euphoria and provides a headspace where things are crystal clear. When it’s going down the way I want the freedom of the page lights me up – I’m firing on all four and have a full head of steam.
The satisfaction in the word is nearly orgasmic. I forget the square neighbours and the cops at my door. I forget the trivialities that threaten to drag a man down. I did a hundred meaningless jobs; I was a construction worker, a ditch digger, a window cleaner and a librarian. I never felt right about any of them, but when I started with the words I knew what I wanted to do. It doesn’t matter if I’m never paid, or recognized – I can’t stop now that I found my thing.