Life is Crazy that Way...

We start out searching for a place in this crazy world. We travel sometimes to find it. We find people, friends, places and avenues that take us to new and different realms and levels of living. Sometimes, the work we do and who we work with gives us a feeling of stability. For some, it holds them and they are content forever. For others... like me, there is no content.
I am a writer. It is what I do. And this writer wants to travel. I want to be inspired by the things around me. I want to look at a house and see a new novel. I want to travel around, find a plac that inspires my soul and write. Stay there until I need more content and then find a new place. The world inspires me and sometimes, it is the very thing that blocks my thoughts and slows my writing. I think this is true of so many authors, perhaps more so in a fiction writer. More abstract their thoughts.
Love that touches your soul is a novel waiting to be written. There are moments when the love is confused and that life steps in and mixes up your emotions. This too is a novel in the writing. Loving and caring and sharing with someone the depths of your everything is a novel. Infusing into your writing your own lifes experiences I believe is a given. You draw from the things you have felt inside to write words of love and sharing, sadness and pain.
You see, home for me, as a writer, is where my shoes are set for the night. It is the place I sit and write. This wanderers heart, never truly content where he is, is the heart, I do believe of every writer. Seeing the world through story telling eyes. A writer lives inside their novels. Their very essence tranfers to the book and things they only dream of happening can and do come to life at the touch of a keyboard. And so I wonder... How is it that a writer finds contentment? What is out there that will cause a writer to call his/her house their home? I have not found it yet, not even in my novels. And so... I continue my search.