Pen to paper. Hand to pen. Write, write, write. The need burns deep. Soon I will come to an end, hopefully. But for now, I write. I continue my literal journey, never moving my pen from the paper. The process is called free writing, and it frees my mind from any obscurities, moving any road blockings on my trip from beginning, to middle, to end. It sends away the birds that reside in my mind during the summer, the birds that keep my need for writing in check. Free write sends them south for the winter, letting my passion come out, with a burning hunger, to devour any piece of paper in sight. How I wish desperately for a quill pen, so that I might look like a writer in the role that I play. But sadly, that day may never come, due to the lack of quill pens in today’s society. But why am I going off topic? I guess it doesn’t matter. That is the beauty of free write-you can say whatever you feel like saying in a sense of confidence. Confidence that you won’t make a fool of yourself because, after all, everyone makes a fool of themselves in free writing. Therefore it is no longer making a fool of yourself, but it is becoming normal. Speaking of, if every weird person converted a “normal” person to the other side-so to speak-would weird then become normal? I hope not; the more normal people there are in the world, the more boring our Earth becomes. But wait, are we still talking about weird-normal, or normal-normal? I have no idea. Again, a beauty of free writing. Randomness is one of the world’s great wonders. So, in a nutshell, I have a need to write, birds go south for the winter, I want a quill pen, you can say whatever you feel like, everyone makes a fool of themselves so it is no longer making a fool of yourself, weird becomes normal, and normal becomes weird. Ah, the beauty of free writing.