December 21, 2010.
As I write, My pen does all the thinking. I'm fortunate enough to be disconnected from 'it all'. All I do is write, and scribble, and sketch, and draw different words. The thinking doesn't even have to happen until I re-read what's been created. Then, is when I find the secrets that have been hiding in my heart.
I occasionally restrain myself, it's true. But that's only because I'm afraid if I write too much, I won't ;alsdkjfasd;klajsdfl;j (See? I started thinking again.) If I write too much, I won't be pleased with my results. What I've been hiding in my heart, even from myself, will either be something too gruesome to behold, or too remarkable to live up to.
Sometimes, I don't write, or I restrain myself and my pen,
Becca, Just let go.