Growing older and writing can sometimes be a challenging combination. It's like a race to see who retains the most memory before the story comes to an end.
That never-ending search for the oftentimes elusive word or sentence screaming to get out and me screaming when it does.
Writing as a younger man had few distractions; a clear mind came easily, and the words followed.
How do I describe in detail what I want to say if I keep being interrupted by words begging me not to be left behind?
How do I pull back memories buried so deep inside of me that they stay locked up as if they never happened?
Writing is like many other crafts that flourish at the beginning but lose their brilliance over time. But we keep on trying, as quitting isn't who we are. We dig deeper and try to relive our past, grateful that we could and hopeful we still can.
This world we live in is a million stories waiting to be told. AI will write some, and those with average intelligence, like my own, will continue to reach into our hearts, minds, and souls to bring words to life in ways an algorithm cannot.
The life of a writer can be described as someone who sees with their eyes and their heart, writes with their emotions, and touches their readers with memories they had all but forgotten. I don't believe any computer can replace someone who can pluck a word from the depth of a soul and craft a story.
Mike 2025
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