A very good friend of mine shared this image yesterday.
It is true. God, is it true. More so than I'll probably ever really write about here, though every so often pieces of that leak out to people who quickly realize that I have no real need to write fiction.
I write here, I write other places. I write for complete strangers and I write for myself. I write in public, and I write in secret.
Writing, in all those forms, is what has helped lift me and carry me through the last few years. It's helped me to connect myself with who I was, with who I am, with who I thought I was, with who I want to be, with who I should be. It's helped me resolve so many issues. It's helped me face others. It's helped me grieve and find hope again, sometimes more than once in a post.
I've admitted things to blank documents that I haven't admitted to anyone else. Some even that I struggled to admit to myself.
I am flawed. I have made many mistakes. I hope that I've learned from them.
I search myself here. I temper what I release to you all, but it's like stemming the flow of a river. I can control only so much. Sometimes it overflows and I have to let it all go.
I dig deep, and those sometimes gaping wounds, they bleed.
I have laughed here and I have cried.
I thank you for laughing and crying with me.
I have so much gratitude to those of you on this strange journey with me. I have so much gratitude to the genuinely kind people that I've connected with in this bizarre online universe. I have so much gratitude just in knowing that there are others out there who wake up in the middle of the night with half written pieces in their heads, who make mental notes throughout the day, who cannot wait to put their fingers on the keys.
I wasn't convinced I was a writer until I heard my dying father tell someone how proud he was of his daughter, the writer.
I want to say this, to those of you who I have referred to as writers, and who say you aren't convinced - you are.
Being a writer isn't about selling books or publishing articles or huge fan followings or fame and fortune.
It's about sitting before a blank screen and bleeding.
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