it’s tough to write about things i don’t know about,
and i do it with some amount of humility
careful not to overstep or offend
which usually results in rubbish
it’s tougher to write about personal things,
but much more real, raw, accurate
which usually results in spectacular prose
not everything here is autobiographical
(except my disdain for uppercase, that’s all me)
writing a book right now – a novel – a fiction
it’s hilarious how much of it is drawn from real life
and how much of it is drawn from this other life,
one i’ve imagined a million times but never visited
and how authentic they both feel to me.
it’s not that one is real and one is imaginary
both are real, to me. both are me. both are.
i want to present a story that is gripping, heart-wrenching,
imaginative, amusing, compelling, magic.
to do that i have to tell my readers things i’ve never told anyone
admit to things, examine them, lay them bare
i’m mostly ok with that, except
judgement, of myself and of my work – that is myself
i think all writers feel this way, or at least
the good ones do.