|There are five stories in this photo. I was writing five at once that summer xD|
There is no greater thrill to me than the written word.
I have never laughed or cried so much for another human being than I have over writing.
Be it Wall's amazing Hum a Few Bars and I'll Fake it, or the latest Kim Harrison novel, which I am anticipating more than Christmas.
They make me cackle like a maniac, cry in agony, and scream in frustration when the characters are being idiots. I am not ashamed to admit it. I have screamed over books to the point that my lover asks if I'm okay. Yes. I will be. Once I finish this freaking chapter.
Books fill my life like nothing else has, like no one else undoubtedly every will.
When I write, my soul sings. I feel powerful, ludicrous, and brave. The world means nothing, only the pen and the paper and all of the paths before me in my lovely fictional realms. Even when it's maddening, even when its utterly insane to the point of forgoing sleep and sustenance, the words are my master, and I am their ever-willing slave.
We are taught that people complete us. That we are to find one person to fill our lives, and that we must live for that person, that idea alone, and nothing else.
But I have never felt anything like the high of a new idea, the thrill of a compelling plot, or the longing for the characters on the page, for any person in this world of ours. No one has ever kept me as enthralled as Vincent Pavel's antics, or feel a sense of pride as Azazel's patient devotion, or a sense of anger as Valerious' manipulative destruction.
No one person completes me.
People assist me. They promote, benefit, and encourage me.
Words alone complete me.
And that is why I am won not with flowers, or fine foods. Not expensive gifts, or wealth and fame. I want to hear the words of your heart. I want nothing more than your soul's confession, and not a single syllable less.