I'm a Writer.

It's been a few months since I've updated this blog.

I suppose you could say I lost my desire to write. I won't go in to details, but it's been a rough couple of months. That's not really the point of this post. The point is, that I lost sight of what I love to do...and that's write. I'm a good writer. I'm not great, but I'm good.

Writing skills aside, I enjoy writing. I always have. And for the last few months, I stopped enjoying it. Maybe it was because there was just SO much to write about, that I knew if I started to put it all down on a piece of paper, or a word document, or blog or even Facebook status update, that I'd be opening flood gates that I wasn't really ready to open.

Writers have a gift and a curse. Their gift is their ability to convey their thoughts and feelings in the written form. Their curse is their ability to convey their thoughts and feelings in the written form. They tend to bottle their emotions and thoughts up until they write them out. They don't discuss many things with family or friends because they are so used to the therapy of writing it all out. But what if it gets too emotional to write? Then you are left with the curse of keeping it all inside...and that's never a good thing.

Sometimes it just takes a little bit of time to build the strength to get everything out.

Last weekend, I went back home to Philadelphia for the Thanksgiving holiday. Wednesday afternoon I stepped into Penn Station to wait for my train, and while waiting in the holding area, I was overcome with the need to write. It was the first time in months that I felt this feeling.

I rushed to a local "Hudson News" and bought the gaudiest, cheapest notebook they had. It was a hardcover journal with a dark red coloring with gold details. It was so ugly. I usually choose my journals wisely, because the actual journal, in my opinion, is just as important as what you write in it. Sometimes a quote, image or color scheme can inspire you as much as anything else.

It was different this time. This time I would have been happy to write on a Auntie Anne's napkin.

I bought this ugly, discolored notebook and made my way to the Amtrak train that would take me home. I opted to sit in the cafe car instead of a seat, because I needed to be able to lean and write. And that's what I did.

From the moment I sat, I wrote. I wrote about everything and anything. I wrote for my my entire hour and a half ride home. I wrote 70 pages and almost filled the book up. I had no plan, or structure. I just free wrote. I let it out. I let it all out. I printed, I quoted, I drew...I did whatever came to mind.

And as we pulled into my stop in Philadelphia, and I closed my new journal, I took the first full, deep breath I've had in a few weeks. Damn, it felt good.

This blog isn't really meant to be a personal blog. In fact, I think this is the first blog I've written on here that wasn't meant to be funny or ridiculous or pop culture related. But I felt the need to explain the lack of posting.

So, yea, I'm back. I'll keep the personal thoughts to my ugly journal and my appreciation for C's, whores, good and bad music and anything that inspires me to this blog.

Which leads me to my next post...