We are a reflective bunch.

I could make all sorts of word associations here regarding the mirrored surface of a writer’s soul. I could suggest that we reflect the world back at the world, and that this is why  people both love and hate novelists. I could play with the idea of refraction and suggest to you that it is the fractured nature of our psyche that makes us shine just that little bit brighter than the average person. I could, but I won’t. 

What I really mean is that we think,

a lot.

It’s an occupational hazard for a writer. Heck, we would be thinking if we weren’t writing, but we choose to exorcise our demons in ink, and really the world should be grateful that we are so easily pacified, because we have such a lot to say. We express ourselves silently and with extreme force. It’s who we are. It is also why writers who aren’t writing tear themselves apart. We pull everything apart to look at the workings, and if that energy isn’t directed outwards then there is only one other place for it to go.

Writers need to write, we should write and we have to write.

So please writers, write.