because i needed to say it…

This is not something I do. This is something I am. If I were to quit writing tomorrow, I believe I would quit existing. I would simply cease to be. Writing is part of me to the very core. Each word, each idea, each character that I create on paper is, in essence, a piece of me. I bleed my emotions and my thoughts out through my fingertips and then I let the world ogle them at will. The simple pain of being a writer can only be known by others that experience it. It sounds melodramatic, but it is entirely truthful. Catharsis is putting it mildly. Every piece of me, every bit of rage and sorrow, it all ends up out there for prying eyes to molest. They make interpretations and read things into what they see. Rarely are they right, but it’s what is supposed to happen. The author creates, the audience critiques. Turning inside out on a daily basis is something we become accustomed to. It’s something I’ve become accustomed to. My words, my thoughts, poured out and left alone for others to read…


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