Writing is the essence of love.

Everybody has different ways of letting go, letting go of stress, letting go of emotion and letting go of the things they love.

For me, this catharsis is through writing.

Once upon a time it was whenever I put on a pair of ballet shoes, and at the time I didn’t know it, but with those shoes on my feet I was a free woman, no stress, no rules, no pressures, nothing could stop me and I was just Amie. Admittedly I had to be dancing in a room on my own, preferably with the lights off, but it was still the same effect.

Nowadays these shoes are packed away in the loft along with the rest of my childhood/ teenage life, but I like to think if I ever needed them again they would be there.

Perhaps it’s an age thing that makes you want to pick up a pen and scribble the first thing that pops into your head, perhaps its madness, but trying telling that to an author.

In a way my writing now is similar to my dancing patterns as a child, when I was in a good mood I floated across the floor (I like to think) and in a bad mood I looked like an idiot dressed from head to toe in pink. If I’m in a good mood now my diary will be full of gibberish, this blog will also be full of utter rubbish and there will be a permanent smile on my face. When I’m in a bad mood or trying to put something off, there will still be a smile on my face but my diary will be empty and this blog will gradually get forgotten about.

It is through this unruly obsession with writing that this emotional code has come about.

So as you can tell I am either bored, flexing my ‘artistic muscles’ or on the verge of wanting to jump in the car and just drive somewhere. Unfortunately the days of jumping in the car and driving have long gone and all that remains is the overwhelming guilt that I should be doing something very important that I am unconsciously avoiding.

The biggest problem is all I want to do is write, and if it’s via a job I love and get paid for then even better. Its agony not being able to do what feels natural and patiently wait until life has prioritised itself, especially when patients was never a strong point to begin with.

I took the wrong degree and am paying for it, but the lack of will power is phenomenal. I could write an article on any given topic instantly, it sounds stupid but the temptation to stand on a tall building and shout ‘I am a journalist, not an English scholar!’ is very very strong.

Perhaps in another life I was Herbert out of Monty Pythons ‘The Holy Grail’... all I want to do is write! (Obviously wouldn’t want to be an exact replica of Herbert as I would probably blow up birds with my singing. Much like Princess Fiona actually. In fact that might be a better match, We both have hideous taste in men and both like weed rats, cooked rotisserie style.)

I guess one day I will find another way to start a sentence that doesn’t involve the word ‘I’ and will die happy if I could make a living from writing utter nonsense 365 days a year.

But for now the writing must keep flowing to maintain sanity and to get back to where we left off six months ago.

It has been an interesting start to life as a graduate, but I am now ready to face the world with a pen in my hand and await the arrival of January the 28th 2011.