That's blasphemy.

Have not written in a long time. Seems to me writing’s become a side dish. A side dish to busy schedules in school or work, best served in between classes and deadlines, quiet mornings and lonely nights, heartbreaks and angry outbursts.
Right now I’m walking while writing this. Sometimes, it feels as if most of the writing’s done when I’m not writing, if that makes sense at all. Maybe writing cannot take centerstage. Perhaps we cannot just sit down consciously and do the writing. I don’t know but I’m beginning to believe ever so strongly that the process of writing should be something that’s running constantly at the back of our heads, left to its own imagination and autonomy to steer its own direction as it pleases. A process that requires more marinating of luck, ideas, and epiphanies than actual execution. Maybe. I’m not too sure. But hopefully I’ll find out the secret to writing soon enough.