there is nothing to writing. all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
-Ernest Hemingway
I have no process for writing, hence I don’t even call myself a writer anymore. it mostly happens almost by mistake.
when I think of writing, the first word that comes to my mind is pain. for me to actually write something, it has to grow in my mind and overwhelm me so much that I can’t keep carrying it around. I just need to unload it. talk about choosing pain to avoid even greater pain.
one other way I can end up writing is when it starts out on its own, little and harmless. I don’t even have the intention, but then buttons keep pressing themselves, and an hour later I sit with a page of something. if that something keeps living on its own and demands that I feed it, I keep going with it. that’s it.
at all other times I don’t even think of writing. the blank page fear is foreign to me.
pain, on the other hand, nags.