I am sitting in a cafe/bookshop/pub right now in Marrakech, surrounded by other writers writing. We are all writing in different ways and I am only writing to tell you of the writers in here as I am only here for the beer.

The women to my left has enough paper in front of her to recreate the amazon or Amazon in book form. The women to my right is using a laptop to construct her masterpiece and the man in front of me is using a quill and ink. I shit you not, a quill and ink.

As he refills his quill to complete the line for the third time, I think of how many different ways there are of writing and how many different places there are to write. I prefer solitude when I write, probably because if anyone saw me writing they would think I was truly insane and perhaps I am but I’m ok with that. When I start writing, I can not stop until everything is out and so I bury myself in my notebook writing as quickly as I can, spelling everything wrong so that I don’t have to think about anything other than the words in my head.

Cheers to the writers, quills, laptop, paper and pen, it’s all the same if you are writing from the heart.


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