After days of feeling under the weather, I managed to get some productive writing done. It’s not that I don’t write every day. I do. But it’s not always applicable to the fiction writing process. Sometimes I journal as a way to relieve myself of toxic thoughts and feelings I cannot purge through other means. Other days, I write in service of my beliefs, be they spiritual or political. Don’t we need that release from time to time? Because the world isn’t so free. Writing is the last frontier of an idea that is assumed but not fully applicable to many in the physical realm.
So, even when I’m ill or down after the world has hit me one too many times in the gut, there’s a silver lining. Each word I pen brings me closer to self-actualization. Sends me soaring over the pyramid in defiance of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. For a moment, I’m free until I’m brought down to earth again.
