Reading Stephen King's book, On Writing, was like being cornered and forced to have a long, drawn out mental enema.

In the back of my mind was the constant hankering, almost yearning, to write but something always stopped me in my tracks. Or if I did find my way to put a pen to paper or finger on a keyboard I'd give up after a few minutes. I'd find other things to do: Anything but writing.

If you really want to write, then shut yourself in a room, close the door, and WRITE. If you don't want to write, do something else. It's as simple as that.

Krishna children were taught that in the spiritual world there were no parents, only souls and hence this justified their being kept out of view from others, cloistered in separate buildings and sheltered from the evil material world.

Reading Stephen King's book, On Writing, was like being cornered and forced to have a long, drawn out mental enema.

My biggest excuse to others and myself was that I had writer's block, as if it was some kind of illness.

My inner critic who had begun piping up about how hopeless I was and how I didn't know to write.