A writer does not simply write his words with a mere pen;

he bleeds out his life and soul onto the paper lying before him,

his emotions and feelings, his blood and his heart, forming inked words

of sincere love and thought on his page.

When a writer creates a character, a vortex is formed;

so beautifully complex and unique in its processes, created by the connection that lies

so gracefully between the author and his pages

and somewhere out there the character is alive, somewhere.

When a writer makes friends, they share the love;

the love and devotion placed into their own work

so carefully placed and portrayed

and somewhere out there it resonates with someone.

There is no greater compliment when someone perchance finds your story;

picks it up and rustles yellowing pages fondly

being sucked into the vortex

and seeing what lies beyond.

Blood is thicker than water;

but ink is thicker than blood.

Once we pass, the blood dries away;

but words can survive long after we are buried in our graves.