Impetuous and Imperious: This Need to Spew

Confessions of a pathological scribbler

©Ehioma Osih via Canva

I’ve a job to do. I don’t know how to, I’m not sure what it is, yet it’s urgent. Who assigned me I’ve no idea, but the command is compulsory. Some days I don’t want to, it’s too hard, but that’s not an option, so I shush my grumbles. That I’m likely to fail is no excuse for not trying. As for an avid alpinist, this mountain was set here for me to scale. I must – because I must. And if I perish in the attempt, well, what a way to go!

I loathe my vocation and love it. I feel cursed and blest. This reaction is not uncommon, I think, among those possessed by a driving dream. For one person it’s to be a rock star, for another to run fastest, for another to compose. I lamented in my business years I did not love money more, for avarice is a great motivator: few vast fortunes were amassed by accident. I did not love money. I loved… words – and how, miraculously – infrequently – they combined to make music. I loved words so fervently I did not want to saddle them for a li…