I used to be a writer. It didn't stop all at once, or maybe it didn't really "stop" at all. The flow just changed. Subject matter. Purpose. Me. It all changed. Then português confused the wiring and once again the entire process changed.
For me.
Most of the ideas didn't even get past the fatty part of my upper arm. The really good ones at least "intended" to get past my elbow. Losing my voice was the equivalent to losing my pen.
Hopefully I'll find it again. Moving on.
