creativejuicy

I’ve been a writeaholic for 40 years. I stole my first ink from my father’s bureau when I was 6 years old, crazily jabbing the old nib pen into the bottle, scratching all over the paper forming words, linking them together, creating stories. I loved words even then…marveling at how they looked on the page, neatly grouped, easily manipulated, moulded and made into anything I wanted. At school I would beg my teachers to let me read my stories in front of the class. At recess I haunted the library. The smell of all those books made my want to jump inside them and disappear. Anais Nin was my pusher. “Words are magical. Intellectual banquets. Orgies of ideas” she said. She got me hooked and I was high for weeks.. Soon I began mainstreaming and set my poems and stories free into the world. When they were accepted and published, I fell further into the abyss of words. I wrote a newspaper column for 5 years. I took a job writing advertising copy for radio to support my habit. The world of thirty second dollar-a-holler discourses lasted 10 years, until feeling disparaged I wrote my last never-to-be-repeated closing down sale. These days I poke around in bookstores ...where others like me lurk. I’m a pusher myself now. Sometimes I entice other addicts into my creative writing workshops...encouraging them to take the same road I took. To explore their minds, unearth the wonders therein and get high. I share words without sterilizing them…and I’ve infected hundreds. There’s no twelve step program or chance of rehabilitation for me. I’m a writeaholic.