So. Writing is a funny thing. It is part listening to myself and part daring myself not to listen to myself. I find that it is somewhat difficult to stretch and take the risk of telling the story I want to tell. Sometimes, I remember the books I have read on the craft of writing – and I cringe because most times my writing breaks those rules. Sometimes, I am ashamed because the things I want to write about are singly about emotion and loving and longing and romance – and well, sometimes people say smart women should know better. Sometimes, I find it hard to tear myself away from the thoughts that want to be written down.
I suppose the way to be a powerful writer is to be true to the inner voice that seeks to speak. And I have written before how this is an act of courage. But then it is also a question of what makes writing powerful. The stories I enjoy going back to read are those that have touched my heart in some way. I find that the stories that I write that have the potential to leave a mark often come from a place of vulnerability. I guess I have to keep writing to get comfortable with the idea of remaining exposed – and letting people into the deep space where the most intimate of the stories I wish to tell dwell.