You will learn to be vigilant and extra cautious of your words, and then that will be replaced with instincts and the freedom of caring less — about how those words sting.
You will discover a rhythm that sticks and then mocks you at the dead of night — when the nagging need for notes becomes an utmost desire to be creatively reckless.
You will start to feel the rage of your tokens as many will collect them for knowledge while others hoard it for vengeful acts that you may decide to write about once you realize that you can’t stop writing.
You will develop a keen interest in debating yourself in front of a live audience without adherence to traffic laws or whether or not clickbait will bury your logic.
You will be confronted by those that recognize themselves in your work or the agony of having to explain why they don’t recognize you.
You will be overwhelmed with usefulness and the calling of being responsive to anything that will whip you into shape and keep the edits and additions from drifting past the conclusion.
You will be forced to reckon with the consequences of jotting down how you feel about what you feel and how those feelings will be sealed in black and white capsules that could cost you nothing at all or change everything.
When you write all the time — you will enter the experimental phase that will become the space you dominate without examining the results. It will be a seamless process that won’t break you — even when the cursor’s blink challenges your impending strike.
You will learn as the words accumulate — that the strength of numbers will exacerbate the symptoms of access as the prying eyes that use social tools for gain will also prevent you from doing the exact same thing.
You will learn hard and quick — why writing all the time could mean endless beginnings and the stretch of an exercise that requires no warm ups or the intermission of gathered thoughts.
You will be better than good with practice. You will be quick and fluid with expressions — and the last-minute re-arrangement of how you suddenly feel when you accommodate the ugliness of beauty — all at once.
You will be smarter and more loyal to yourself. You will be slow to stutter emotions and quick to clutter your mind with more reasons why you can’t stop writing.
You will learn to depend on the joy of release and the religion of doing it just for the fact that it has to be done.
It can be done on a bus headed to Hollywood & Vine. It can be the reaction of waiting at the doctor’s office — expecting the worst. It can be achieved standing in line at the drug store, while remembering what you couldn’t recall hours ago. It can be the service you lead — right before dawn — when the race hasn’t begun.
It will be learning why writing all the time doesn’t have to be an all-time high or the proof of why you are what you are.
Because, you’re pretty much a writer. All the time.