Addictions –

We all have them. Some we’ll admit to, others maybe not.

I have three that I accept and ‘deal’ with. –chuckling-

The first is my smoking. Not going to ramble on about that one. I do. I have forever and I probably will until it or something else kills me. That’s life.

The second addiction is books/reading. The reading part is a given, it is for all of us around here. The books – well for me there is something very special about holding the real thing in your hands, the feel, the heft (well not certain paperbacks have ‘heft’ LOL). I ‘need’ real, honest to God physical books. I’m addicted to them. More than that I have to own them and my budget be damned. (As if I had a budget per se –shaking my head-) If I see a book I want to read I’m off to the brick-and-mortar store to get it, or I find it online and order it. When it’s in my hands I savor it, not just the contents but the physical object. The number of bookshelves in my place speaks to this addiction. I hate to say this but I am even loath to lend them out for fear they might not be returned. That I think is an addiction personified.

My third addiction is writing. It’s my newest one. I’ve only had it for, humm, five years at most I think. But I’m in its thrall. If I’m not writing a story I begin to go bug fuck. Truly. It’s as if I have to be putting words down on paper, well in Word, or I get antsy and to be honest scared, comparable to a drug addict wondering his next fix (read idea) will come from. All right, that might be a tad over the top but still…

I write not only because I love to but because I have to. I know that’s why we all do, those of us who are authors. It’s an addiction, the need to tell a story and even more to have others read it and, we pray, enjoy and react to it. If we don’t publish then we give them away, on blogs, in groups, to any one who wants to see them.

Writing is our life, and our addiction. At least it’s mine.