Writing is desire

There are times, when I least expect it, that a barrage of words, characters, and scenes assault my mind and my senses. Sometimes, I welcome them as they happen during my allocated writing times. Other times, however, they come at the worst times, when I’m exhausted or on the brink of sleep or some other human function. They attack, full force, so I can do little but succumb. They fill me to the point that if I don’t sit and write, I implode. It’s desire and want and need and love and hate all rolled into a neat but over-charged rubber-band ball.

Tonight is one of those nights.

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