on writing and being a writer

I am writing again. No, I mean, really. I ramble a lot, here at this blog, and pretend for the most part to be a writer. And I get away with it. Its a wonderful world. And its pretty amazing how impressionable people can be. Especially me. But in all honesty, I have neglected my apparent latent ability to pen real prose. And so, I have decided to go out on a limb and actually make this commitment to write! It feels good. It makes me feel in touch with myself. Again. I miss the ocean, its smell, its lure; but I am glad to be, once again, grounded in this city of immense energy. The beat of Africa's heartbeat is right here, at my doorstep. Laced with an arsen of crime, ebbed by a sensual flow of ingratiating traffic and filled to the brim with people from every corner of the continent and the world, this is Johannesburg. I find myself standing in the midst of it all, sometimes alone on the battlefield and at other times surrounded by a delightful sprawl of sunflowers.. The promise of a wave of words is at once ominous and exhilarating. And I am ready to be dive right in.

PS: In taking on this little adventure, I have officially given myself permission to write badly, just as long as I write, as I must! Will slice and dice when theres a full bag :)

PPS: This post is a note to self, a place I hope to be able to return to, when Im drowning and not able to see the wood from the trees at any point. And for any potential panic attacks. And. Yea. Whatever unforeseen. Sigh.