For once I need to let myself be vulnerable. For the past several years I've been building walls to protect my delicate and complicated psyche from any additional pain that could be induced by human interaction or life-changing opportunities. That said I haven't experienced much, haven't had many friends, haven't taken any risks, haven't even felt the wind in my hair. Thank God for Robert, my husband of eight months who I met online four years ago during an intense period of hermitude. He is my complete opposite, perhaps a manifestation of the alter ego I have kept caged up for so long. He has a motorcycle, has gone sky diving, has been hurt and loved by countless friends and significant others; he simply loves life.
The bottom line is this: I need to let my alter ego take over a little so that I can start writing uninhibited, with reckless abandon. I want me--plain Jane, over analytical, worrisome Monica--to slip into sedation. I don't want to filter everything that comes to my mind. I want whatever coming to my mind to run right through my fingertips and onto the page. That will of course require me to keep chiseling away at the walls I've bricked around my creative chambers, which need to be fueled by life's experiences and observations. I must put myself out there and I need to let what I've bottled up wriggle free, no matter how scary or foul or offensive it might be. The writer's block, the dam, has broken loose somewhat, but the filters are still there, allowing only the purest of minerals to pass. But I don't think writing is about purity. Purity makes for a peeked story. I think it's about the raw, the ugly, the REAL. Life is the elixir of creativity and I need to do some more living.
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