There is something strange and unique about writing. Something I can never quite understand or interpret. Someone once asked me if I meant any of what I wrote, if it based on life experience, if th...показать большеThere is something strange and unique about writing. Something I can never quite understand or interpret. Someone once asked me if I meant any of what I wrote, if it based on life experience, if the stories I tell if my characters are real. To me they are, each story, each person, they are real in my writer’s mind and converse and argue with me daily on what is to happen to their lives. Reality is the bucket of cold water which is where no one knows my characters like I do, no one understands. Writers are forever alone; I have found out.
For me the smiles and metaphors are ways of remembering, tormenting us almost with their unique life that needs to be written. What we write, we feel. We live, we experience. It’s a parallel world to ours, always. The other side of the mirror. What I write is real to me as my reflection.
But then, crazy people see all sorts of things, don’t they?
This book represents some of the tears I couldn’t cry, some of the terror behind my smiling eyes. This book exists because one night I told myself that I had to swallow up all the fear and pain around me, and once it was inside me I had to transform it all into something beautiful.показать меньше