"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Ernest Hemingway, I understand this statement more than ever.
Something that writing is teaching me is that honesty is a hard thing to do in your writing. Especially when writing from real events with real people who can be hurt or angered or when your emotions are completely invested in a situation about which you are writing.
Writing's call for honesty hit me more recently - but more so tonight. Feeling I was going to have a long night, I thought maybe I'll sit up and write out my feelings. I'm able to admit it all to myself - these emotions that crop up during certain times. Time to deal...
But...then it seems so very real when it's right in front of you. Then you really do have to deal...and what happens when you don't know what to do beyond the initial realization? In my head, I can forget anything I've realized once I get enough distractions, but having it outside of me makes it more.
And more is what I don't know what to do with. I just prefer not to bleed to death. Am I an island on this one?