one word: distraction.
three times a second.
everywhere.
and all of them, in some way, important.
it seems impossible sometimes.
making time to capture your thoughts.
what a simple pleasure that is:
having the freedom to write.
whenever you feel the need
to put down, on paper,
for decades and centuries to come,
the precise constitution of your mind
at a specific point in time,
at some a specific place,
in some specific way.
sometimes it’s a power cord.
sometimes, a cellphone.
sometimes, even an in-law.
whichever leash you’re wearing,
be sure it isn’t strong enough
to hold you back.
because the writer’s struggle isn’t one of words;
it’s one of ideas.

words are his tools; ideas are his chores.
ideas are his hobbies.
ideas,
inevitably,
become his life.

so wherever you lie,
on that great spectrum of creativity,
we all have something in common.
we all want to share our story with the world.
we all want to create.
we all want to survive;
for longer than our bodies.
but never than our minds.

ah, the mind.
the only eternal element.
that patron of the soul.
that elusive inner beast.
that keeper of your real self-image.
that beacon of all that you are.

the mind.
that steward of the heart.
that elusive inner song.
that keeper of your real desires.
that shepherd of all that you need.

the mind.
that sceptre of the body.
that elusive outer shell.
that keeper of your real abilities.
that leader of all that you feel.

deep,
in the vast creative ether of the mind,
lies the writer’s greatest struggle.
lies his one unscaled peak.
lies his gentle inspiration.
in the mind.
that always gets…
so…
…
…
distracted.