Yesterday I met a good friend. There were no words to express my feelings. After a brief period of silence she said: I guess you are writing? Do you know the only difference between writers and people who don’t write is that writers aren’t afraid to display their demons? I don’t write to chase away my demons. The nerve which controls the typing of my fingers winds itself about every fibre of my body, weaving discursive threads and pierces the liver, where the demons live. And while I try to flee the silence I call them to war! The farther away I get from the human traffic, the closer I am to sources. Eating words and listening to them rumbling in the gut is how I learned the acid and alkali of language. Every time I enter them like tunnels I discover the alleged separation between word and meaning between writer and word is theoretical. Writer’s block isn’t always a problem. It can be a process of writing that helps us write better. The scariest moment is always just before you start.