Writing fiction is way more intense than journaling. I’m very unsettled by what’s come out of my brain the past few weeks.
Oil painting reproductions: Arthur Rackham: Pandoras Box
I actually can’t put words to it, even to give you juicy details to laugh about. I am a veteran of fifteen years of intense self-enquiry…and twenty-five pages of fiction just left me flummoxed. I’m not sure what to say, except that I have discovered a potent and terrifying new tool, one I am rather afraid to use.
Novelist Shawn Klomperans recently said, “Writing a book shouldn’t be therapeutic; you should need therapy after writing one.”
I read that on Twitter a few weeks ago and while I thought it was funny, I didn’t get it.
After this week though, I get it.
Needless to say, I’ve been avoiding writing the novel. It’s now linked in my mind with Things I’d Rather Not Think About. It made me sick all last week, complete with fever! However, with only ten more days to go, I’ve decided to confront my demons head on and keep writing, despite a 16K word deficit. Onward! Upward! And I will run for cover if need be.
Also, be forewarned, there’s no way I’m ever going to let anyone read the damn thing.
Mysterious Artemis 
Writers must be read!