Writing is a lot like bleeding to me. It almost actually hurts to put pen to paper or in my case, to put fingers to keyboard and pound out the reverberations in my brain begging to be let out and recorded. I struggle in writing at times because I don't excel at writing fluff. I would rather not write anything than write fluff. Sure the occasional giveaway is fun, but I find no personal fulfillment in writing about subjects that don't pertain to my life right now. I prefer to write what I'm going through and many a time I have found myself staring absently at my brightly lit computer screen weighing the options of not posting vs. posting what's really on my heart.
Bleeding.
Writing.
This reminds of when Harry Potter has to write lines for Professor Umbridge and the quill she makes him use writes the lines with his own blood as ink and simultaneously carves the message into the back of his hand. Talk about making a statement.
On Saturday I found myself in a writing critique group at The Relevant Conference. If there is one thing I like, it is having someone else critique my work. Call me crazy, but there is something freeing in knowing how you can make your writing better. Also, I am so used to getting my work torn to bits in my interpreter training program that I learned how to take some harsh criticism. Sure, it still hurts, but oh well. All that to say, I was super excited to have my writing critiqued.
The prompt was memory;
Somewhat nebulous with a myriad of options. Out of my multitudinous memories I write about what it felt like when my parents were separated. Bleeding, y'all.
I thought this part of my personal story didn't effect me and yet here, between the blue and white, on the fibrous paper that crackles as my words spill across it, I see that it did. It did.
I cry as I read my selection aloud.
Feedback is given
and it's like a buoy for the drowning.
writing = bleeding
