So, I write with the intent to be honest, completely honest. Even when I’m writing fiction, I open my wrists a bit, I bleed into the writing. I write whatever’s in me. I like writing the way I write, with such transparency. I write to be known, and maybe understood. I don’t write to make people like me, or love me, or hate me. Elliott Smith once said about his writing that he didn’t write songs to make people feel a certain way, he wrote descriptions, and those descriptions could be interpreted differently. It’s an idea that really stuck with me, it’s exactly how I feel about my writing. I don’t write to inspire people, or depress the Hell out of people. I write the noise in my head, to paint something subjective, and to use my craft well.
The thing is, while I like transparency, and I’m definitely committed to it, it’s not easy. People are fine with writing about puppies, unicorns, turtles named, Kurt. Happy is fine. Suicide, depression, drugs, liquor, sex, those things are often too honest for people close to me. People want to fix me, or save me, or avoid the writing. Sometimes people get angry, frustrated that I’m often so dark. I don’t want people close to me to react badly. I don’t write to upset people, to scare people. It’s hard for people to understand that I’m practicing my craft, I’m writing what I feel until I feel something else. I don’t want to wear a mask, to write comfortable half-truths, happy lies. I used to write that way, and I hated it, it didn’t suit me.
Transparency is difficult, but I can’t go back to anything less. I think that at the end of everything, I would regret writing differently. Darkness is all I have right now, but writing darkness feels better than writing nothing.6 comments
6 Comments so far
Leave your thoughts