For the first time in a long while, I've found myself writing and enjoying it.
Previously writing was a chore. It was something I was forcing myself to do because that's what I had to do. I've edited a third of a book in two days, and the best thing in the world happened this morning while I was doing it - I lost track of time.
It's why I started writing. I love the fact that while I write the world around me melts away and what I feel like is only a few minutes of effort, I'm able to plow away hours of work. It's part of the reason that I knew that I wanted to write for the rest of my life and consider myself an author, because when push came to shove I'd rather enjoy good stories and lots of words, rather than looking at math equations and formulas.
I could do science. In fact, I still wonder if I could do science better than I do English, but there's not what happened this morning (and other moments like that in my life) where I've lost time. English is the only one that has ever been able to do that to me. It's the only one where I can start to focus on it, enjoy every second of it, and then I find myself with two feet that are asleep, a solid kink in my neck that sounds like a machine gun when I crack it, and hours missing from my life. I like that feeling. I love that feeling. That feeling is the feeling of getting lost in work and enjoying every second of what you're doing so that you're more focused on what is going on and what you're thinking about than anything else. During that time Facebook, the internet, all of lives problems and concerns, my mother in law sitting two feet away from me, disappeared. During that time I was living in a place that I liked, my world, with my characters, that fit perfectly how I wanted to see them.
It was nice to go back to that.
I really, really missed that feeling.
