Love of writing

There’s something weird about letting someone you know or love read your writing.

For me it’s like letting them climb in my head. Letting them see my fears or embarrassments.

Most of the time I write for myself. There is no greater feeling. I just let crap pour out onto the page: fears, aspirations, insecurities. But I suppose that’s the best kind of writing. When you have a connection with someone on the other side of the world. When you feel love or sadness for someone you have never met. It’s a strange feeling sometimes.

There’s nothing worse for me than someone seeing a work in progress. I hate it. My work in its barest form. Before I’ve covered up all the insecurities. Just a naked construction of words for people to judge.
Still, there is nothing better than writing; I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.



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