School or writing? I will either graduate or I won’t. But I will always be a writer. I neglect certain subjects that I want to know, subjects whose matter I am passionate about. The problem is I have so many words in me that crave my hands writing them. Sentences that would be covered by time or snow if I was not there to shovel them off for the country to look at, to take in, and recycle. Homework, vacuuming, and other sensibilities should be avoided at all costs, like the male dog with his leg erected or a coal fired power plant spitting dust. These things abort the life that could come, naysay the naissance.

We all write differently. Some like me burn a fire inside that desires kindling. Others like me also when deadlines and word numbers rule the roost. This can be a damper on our creativity and on the flame of life that pulls syntactic gluttony from the menu of our imagination. But meticulous writing doesn’t have to leave the soil of our words cracked or arid. Meticulous is only a couple syllables from melodious. Though I come from a place of friction and heat, creative writing can just as likely sprinkle down with intended precision. Probably then I should do more editing than you. But we can get to the same place. You absolutely do not have to be manic depressive to be a writer.