And it is not until you feel the sweat dripping down your face onto your ink-stained paper
mix with the tears flooding out of your eyes like the first rain after a long dry spell
mix with the blood throbbing through your veins, pounding with every raw thought and word you think and write
mix with the ink stains on your tattered t-shirt that you haven't washed in a week
that you can think to yourself:
I am a writer.