Way too often this urge emerges, and I fail to act on it. I don’t caress myself into writing but the urge only remains. It remains only so subtle that it will not vanish out of existence, nor will it make me act.
Writing does require hoards of research hours, countless readings and unsatisfied state of mind, which follows the two others gladly. But maybe, I should, only, act on the urge and let it emerge on, and on and let it take its course through me and find its rightful place where it is to reign with no interregnum of any sort, nor any opposition to it. Just write feels like a motto for the rest to follow and for the rest of my life.
Maybe I should just write.