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I am compelled to write. My pockets are full of scrap notes at day's end. I divide my time between a rewarding vocation I love, walking a foxhound I adore, and chasing after a wife I cannot face living without. Nevertheless, I write. It's a type of mental illness. I shut myself in the library with only a pet or two and spend hours muttering softly to myself in order to communicate with readers. I compose longhand and then re-write simian style over the keyboard. I swear often. I like the weather best when it rains. Contact me: jwelling //at// jackwelling.com |
