Writing is like:
Riding a unicycle,
on a guywire,
juggling apples and alligators,
planning your next act,
with seven other players,
in a circus you’re designing for the next town,
as you remain cycling to and froe,
twisting a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue,
which you spit into a glass thirty feet below you,
never taking your flirting eyes off the trapeze artist,
teetering just out of reach of your toothsome gator,
at the same time dictating your nefarious plans for world domination and the demise of the human race,
to the parrot you have riding in your birdcage hat.
A writer is a jack-of-every-trade, never satisfied, always learning, constantly exploring what’s around the bend.