Writing. It’s a bitch of a mistress, but damned if she doesn’t know how to show a guy a good time. 

Robert Louis Stevenson once said he hated to write but loved having written. Well, no offense to RLS, but I’m here to tell you that’s a crock of shit. I love every hellish minute of it - the good, the bad, the ugly!

Let’s get one thing straight: writing isn’t just some fancy way to get your thoughts out there. It’s a friggin art form, as old as cave paintings and twice as messy. Sure, you could yammer on to your buddies at the bar over a bottle of tequila, but what happens when you’re alone with nothing but the voices in your head? That’s when writing becomes your best friend and worst enemy all rolled into one.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against those artsy-fartsy types who can slap paint on a canvas and call it profound. But let’s face it - a picture might be worth a thousand words, but a thousand words can paint a whole damned world.

When you’re really in the zone, writing is like being possessed by some literary demon. You forget to eat, drink, or piss. Hell, you might even forget your own name. That’s the Zen of it all - you become a conduit for something bigger than yourself. It’s like your brain takes a vacation and leaves your fingers in charge.

And the Muse? That fickle bitch is everywhere and nowhere. She’s in the bottom of a tequila bottle, the headline of a trashy tabloid, the way your neighbor’s dog looks at you like you owe him money. A writer’s brain is like a junkyard - full of useless crap that suddenly becomes treasure when the right story comes along.

But here’s the kicker: when you’re deep in the throes of writing, it’s like you’re tapping into some cosmic mainline. You’re not just thinking; you’re channeling. It’s the same rush a junkie gets when the needle hits the vein, only instead of heroin, you’re shooting pure, uncut creativity straight into your soul.

And let me tell you, that Zen state? It’s not just for writing. It’s for everything. Driving a car, shooting a gun, painting a masterpiece - hell, even taking a dump. When you’re truly in the moment, time disappears and you become one with whatever you’re doing.

But writing? That’s where the real magic happens. We’re playing God, for Christ’s sake. Creating worlds, breathing life into characters, deciding who lives and who dies with the stroke of a pen. It’s a trip like no other.

In the end, writing isn’t just about putting words on a page. It’s about love, creation, and tapping into something bigger than ourselves. It’s about finding that perfect moment when the universe aligns, your fingers fly across the keys, and you create something that didn’t exist before.

So yeah, I love writing. I love every blood-soaked, mind-bending second of it. Because when it’s good, it’s better than sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll combined. And that, my friends, is the true spirit of writing. 

Now… where did I put that bottle of tequila?