Personal Thoughts on Writing

Writing’s a strange creature. It grabs hold of you like a fever, this relentless itch under your skin to drag the thing inside your head out into the world, shape it into sentences that land just right, chase that one turn of phrase that feels inevitable once you’ve found it. And then—when you finally step back and it’s there, living and breathing on the page—there’s that surge of quiet pride, yes, but also this hollow little ache that sneaks in behind it. Like the fire’s gone out and you’re left staring at the ashes, wondering if you gave it everything you had, if it will matter to anyone at all, or if it was just a beautiful noise meant only for you.