Writing from fear and writing from love leaves similar page-scars but their internal footprints are contradistinctive. One reeks of husbandry and obligation, the other of mad exhilaration rooted in the fervor of curiosity and creation—an exalted state that occasionally strains the boundaries of duty and convention.
Fear threatens an emotional hangover while love suggests the ecstasy of a cure.
I have oftentimes written in fear, my love a dirty secret between me and the page. And the cat. And maybe a few friends too. Truthfully, the one person unaware of the depth of this love was me.
Continue reading “Love It, Fear It, and Die Alive”