On Writing and Smoking

I have not written anything concrete in a while, and thus have begun to as it force myself to write these posts with some kind of regularity. Among my worries, is that the words and topics presented are uninteresting or vague and to that end, know that I am trying hard to make to ensure that these posts are edited and flow with ease.

Although I stopped writing before I quit smoking, the act of writing is so intrinsically tied to the act of smoking for me that even now, over a year later, I have cravings when I type. The muscle memory starts a chain reaction, and soon I lost , I feel a cigarette dangle from my lips, I hear the sound of it slowly burning, the tearful winks as a wisp of smoke enters my eye, and the satisfying drag after the conclusion of a paragraph, and then doing it all again.

I feel it now, but I resist the urge. Time to develop a new routine. 

I used to carry a personal journal within which used to write. Looking through the pages and ignoring the bevy of doodles, it is filled with half started stories, a paragraph or two long, that failed coalesce into a meaningful narrative. Many of my stories are like pasta thrown at a wall, checking to see which ideas stick. 

Often I will let an idea gestate for years before committing to paper, this was particularly true of certain ideas I developed but felt I lacked the words to convey properly. Now is as good a time as any to take some of those lost ideas and try to give them life again. 

Writing, like any skill, requires practice and routine to develop, so I expect it will take time before I produce anything I can be proud of. The feeling of finishing a story, for me, is unparalleled, rivaled only by the first drag of a cigarette after waking up, and I have had neither for too long. Smoking may no longer be an option, but at least I can still have my writing high.