When you spoke about your manuscript, and your past, and your rage, you could hear a pin drop in the room.
We didn’t know whether to hug you or to look away.
We tried to contain our responses to writing advice, not living advice. And yet. I know I wanted to tell you to rest, and to meditate, and surround yourself with people who will not hurt you. (And to always carry Kleenex. What can I say? I’m a mom. I’m practical.)
Thank you for reminding us all that only the white-hot and fiery can truly fuel the work we do. We all need to tap into our fears, our angers, our passionate obsessions to write whatever we write.
There is no 12-step program for writing. There is just, like everything else, the practice of coming back.