Choirs of angels and words are flowing.
I wrote the end of my thesis tonight. I wasn't trying. It isn't due for months. It just showed up, the words writing themselves as my fingers click-click-click without conscious thought on the laptop keyboard. In the coming months as I edit and revise and rewrite, I'll convince myself that it's crap, that what happened tonight was my overactive imagination. That all these disparate events that I've written about didn't condense into one finite moment that transformed a bunch of random stories into an inspired and lyrical end.
But that is what happened.
It's why I keep coming back to the blank page day after day.
Not all of you are writers. Most of you aren't. But all of you have a passion and you damned well should be pursuing it. I'm a little zealous about it because everyone should know the joy of pursuing a righteous dream.
Be manic if you have to. Be willing to fail. Be ready for the magic to take control.
Be ready for a miracle.
And enjoy the Bipolar ride.