Over the past month that I've been away from this blog, I've been writing. A lot. And I have discovered a change of relationship with this writing thing that I do. It calls to me, beckons me like a lover to his bed. I find myself waking in the middle of the night being called to the page. I find myself carrying notebooks with me wherever I go, jotting ideas down on napkins and scrap bits of paper. I am infected with this beautiful disease. Some call it passion. Perhaps. All I know is that something far greater than me is happening and that I can do nothing but surrender to it.