I transcribe my soul in black and white letters. Scour, cut, purge. The writing must be raw and naked. Formality and acquaintance will not do. If I am going to write well I must bear the bloody pumping of my heart.
But what if you laugh at the oddity I uncover?
I take that risk. I do not have the luxury of privacy. If I hold my acquaintances at an arms’ length like any normal person would, you will call me dry and phony.
I may not even know you, yet I must expose the deepest corners of my mind.
I could say writing is frightening because one must excise the academic talk and be concrete. But you would find that boring and un-empathetic.
No, I must let you traverse my mind and experience my heart. I must let you live my fears and joys. Sure, many of my topics and characters are not about me. But I can only write what I feel deeply, because emotion is the life blood of writing. Thus, writing is always the transcription of my life blood.
Oblivious to the world, my heart leaps as I free my deepest experiences. But fear emerges as I leave my oblivion. Will you jeer at my heart? Will you think my personality a misfit? Will you ask what’s wrong with me?
Maybe I’ll be more accepted if I keep my writing to myself. Or maybe someone will benefit from my exposure. I’m banking on the latter.
Photo credit Gideon Wright.