What compels people who write 1 to put slices of their innermost selves “out there” for people to see? It’s a frightening prospect. Once something is out for public consumption, after all, people can do almost anything with it. And when people attack or, worse, ignore one of those slices of an author’s soul existential angst is the typical result.
And yet, those who write will risk that existential anxiety again and again. Why?
Because the act of pouring out those little bits of their being is when they feel the most alive.
- I don’t think I have the audacity to include myself among “writers.” ↩