That some writers are worshiped for showing their underbellies... while others are credited for hiding theirs? I guess we are celebrating the full spectrum of author vulnerability- writing for every author being such a different thing.
I wonder what it is, to me, exactly. Sometimes I write to escape. Sometimes to connect. Sometimes just to vent to that all-accepting blank page or screen without fear of backlash. Sometimes to feel intelligent; proud of myself. Sometimes to question everything I think to be truth. Sometimes to wallow in self pity, other times to brag. Sometimes to figure things out... to slow down the whirlwind of thoughts in my head and actually try and learn from them.
I fear that writing is not as intense an experience for some of the writers out there who make a hell of a lot more money doing it than I do. And who do a hell of a lot better job, too.
Those cold writers. Those matter-of-fact writers. Full of judgment and criticism... I hope their lives are not as distant as their words. Imagine living so alien to your own emotions. Is it really that some of us search for something - anything - that can be used to mask how we really feel?
Can we writers get so caught up in the masks of our own metaphors that we just perpetuate these dillusional bubbles that we create, live in, and casually refer to as our "comfort zone"?
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