Reading may never come and go, but writing sure seems to, for reasons that I can not explain nor comprehend. In the past 48 hours, I've written and submitted 4 works of flash fiction, and now, 3 blog posts. Upon observation, little has changed in my day to day activity to suggest why such an uptake in productivity has occurred. But why question it, in the end?
Perhaps when I get a fresh new wave of "not accepted" (most literature contests and journals have acceptance rates ranging from about 0.2% to 3%), I'll be dissuaded from writing for a time. The average writer, as in, anyone who is pursuing writing for the purposes of main or augmenting income, statistically speaking, makes less than $5 a year. To wit, I have yet to make anything from any of my writing in years, with my last source of cash being a $250 prize split between me and two friends for writing and acting in a short film.
I was in high school then.
So I'll press on, for now, and see where the writing takes me, and if I get stumped again, I'll simply try to bury my head in a book.
I hope you all had a wonderful World Book Day. Read what you love.