I was unsure if I'd write anything today.
It's not that I'm lost for words -- hell, no -- but I'm not sure how meaningful or valuable it is for me to keep sharing my daily angst.
I'm not looking for sympathy, comments or direction. All I need do is write something. That's enough. But more than that I need to feel it.
Yeh, I know that sounds crap, but it's true. I need to feel my writing, as opposed to being in execution mode all the time.
I'm reading Steven Pressfield's latest book. I'm loving it. But then I knew I would. Actually, I don't need to read it. I know everything I need to know, or enough at least, to write. And to keep on writing.
Well, another day of office stuff awaits. I can hardly contain myself.