I used to dream of writing long novels with complex characters and twisting multi-layered plots, but life seemed opposed to letting me ever finish one.
I used to lie awake at night if I hadn't written something down. The
sentences would construct and organise, then break down and re-organise,
on the canvas of my mind until I gave up, switched the light back on,
took out my pen and wrote them down. This would keep me awake for hours
sometimes, but most often in the end I was extremely satisfied with the
outcome of my writing.
I used to wait for months to see if I got published somewhere, or to show my work to people, but now I realised that I can just as easily publish my short stories and poems in a blog, no matter if they are unpolished or half done... Just to see how they survive in the real world.
Sometimes when I am reading something intruiging, or I see something interesting, or hear something fascinating, I get an urge to write. I can't do anything about it. And in those moments, this is what my pen wrote down.