I don’t write nearly as much as I should and I don’t cook as much as I’d like.
I always loved writing, the way that every jot and tittle got together to make a letter, then a word, then a sentence and then a story. How can ink and some paper describe somebody’s life? But it does.
To me, writing is a natural extension of my “artistic” disposition, it doesn’t matter whether I use images, words, wool or food, it is all for the same purpose. What I am really doing is letting me out and letting you in. Everything about me defines who I am and to me, there is a lot to words. They are much like tools; if they are used correctly you could easily extract who I am.