You may have noticed by the amount of typos in my blog posts that I’m not a writer by trade. In fact, if truth be told I only started writing for fun a few years back. Like anything, the more you learn about something the more you unravel the different layers of craft required and the more in turn, you appreciate it. I’ve fallen in love with the process, like a true amateur. The word amateur actually comes from the Latin ‘amare’ meaning to love. It was used to refer to someone who did something purely for the love of it, as a hobby not as a means to make money. But I’m not sure if this is completely true either. Being an over-thinker, I frequently get headaches from having too many manic thoughts flying around in my head, like angered bees in a beehive. Writing helps me focus and make sense of my thoughts. In the grips of anxiety, panic and mania words often fail me. Not as in they fail to come out, this would be preferable, but no. They tumble out of my mouth in a rush, often offending the receiver as they haven’t had a fair chance at being thought through by a stable mind. Writing them down helps me to bring some order and a sense of control. So I now need writing as I need nature, hopelessly and desperately.