There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. ~Ernest Hemingway
Hemingway was right. I write a lot of informal essays and each one is like taking a sharp razor and slicing my soul open.
I am ignoring my soul.
Part of it is fear. The other part is insecurity. If I avoid the words, then I can ignore all the things about the words that frighten me.
I’m working hard. Too hard. Which means I am not writing.
My soul, the one that bleeds the words, is dry.
And I am not sure how to fill the well within.