i keep thinking about writing a book, and writing some essays or short stories too…and then i don’t do it. i hate it when people close to me want to know if this character is so and so or if this story is really about such and such. writing anything down is like cutting out a little piece of my spirit and passing it around for everyone to scrutinize…having it then picked apart by people close enough to me to know better is savage, too much, a destruction of the sacred space between me and my words. analysis by strangers, while never exactly comfortable, is not the same kind of violation; they don’t know me, don’t know where my line is drawn in the sand.
I woke up thinking about this. Write! I’ve always admired your creativity and your ability to turn a phrase. I’m sure every successful author has been asked these intrusive and stupid questions about their work, but they write anyway. I’m sure you draw from real life and some characters are amalgams of personalities with whom you’ve encountered, but so what? For every one these people, are multitudes more that would be blessed to read your words and experience your gift. So, again, taking advise from the wise Mother Teresa, “do it anyway”, girl, Do It Anyway!!!!!!