Writing is a lot like masturbation. You get an itch to do it. Inspiration and musing are your porn. You browse the archives in your head and sift through the infinite thoughts that are rushing in and around your head. Pick one – the perfect clip, the most appetizing idea. And then you go over it in your mind. You have to stroke it to make something happen. It’s not the prettiest thing to say but it’s the truth and the truth usually doesn’t look gorgeous. It is raw, naked, and most likely tastes bad. Writing is something you do to yourself to see if you’re even capable of creating. It’s a practice and only by doing it as many times as you can, only can you become acceptable if not good at it. After the flurry of ideas, the falling of letters onto paper, you look at what you came up. Read it. Read it again. Read it some more. Did you like what you created? Don’t feel bad. Do it again. You only feel two things after you do the deed. Ecstasy – seeing what you created, being happy with the outcome, savouring the direction of it all. Or you feel guilty after. You loathe. You regret you even made the decision to do it in the first place. You feel disgust but that’s okay. No one is without sin just as no single piece of poetry or prose is infallible and the all-time great. Just remember - it’s all in the wrist.