We are masochistic beings. There is no real way to dance with the muse if you don’t let her tug on your heart strings or indulge in your darkest secrets first. It is the price we pay to achieve the flow of a carefully manicured work of literary art.

Writers pick at the scabs of our pasts, watching them pucker with blood and spill memories upon paper in words thicker than such substance.

Writers viciously claw at scars long healed to see if it is still tender to the touch. Writers play with their own emotions so that in turn they can influence that of their readers.

Writers relish in the product of their pain but it is always pain and strong emotions that bring out the best stories.

If you so desire, hack away at your emotional baggage, unload it upon paper in ink thicker than blood, and join the ranks of the writers.


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