I read some of Lynda Barry's "One Hundred Demons" again last night. God I love those stories. Common Scents is my favourite, followed by The Aswang, followed by Resilience. Or maybe it's "Resilience" first. It depends.

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Later

Oh wait... duh... I completely forgot the reason why I started reading the book again. The last story "Lost and Found" is about writing:

"Lost. Somewhere around puberty. Ability to make up stories. Happiness depends on it. Please write."

I got a lump in my throat when I read that passage. I know exactly when writing was lost to me. I was 17. I left home and my big stack of writing was lost in the move. I didn't write like that again. Was I a good writer then? I have no idea. All I know is that I felt confident about it. That's all that matters really. I'm trying now but the whole exercise is one gigantic freak out. Writing is definitely one of my demons.