I am starting something new. I have not written at all since September. Sometimes, I fear I have forgotten how to. In the fray, I have been forced to polish my grammar skills. However, sometimes I feel as if english scholars miss the point.
 No person can become a writer. They either are one, or they are not. Writing is the way in which a person sees the world. It has very little to do with journaling, typed memoirs, or letter stashes. All of those things are the outcome. Writers write because they can do little else.
 Throughout the great majority of my life, I felt as if my writing were inescapable. I looked back on all of my compositions to find that all of them had errors. I could have fixed them, but I refused to. There was something charming about the ruggedness of them. There was some succulence there. There was life.
 I have had grammar so nailed into me, that it has punctured my ability to see the world in color. Where there was freedom, there was beauty. Now, there is just a concrete row of monochromatic words.
 I abhor grammar.
 I hate caging up the watercolor lines. The structure sucks everything whimsical out of compositions. The material is inevitably drier than it could have been.

  I am a fan of the run on sentence.