Inexpressible

I have problems.

I know, right? A writer with problems? Like that’s never happened before.

I’m the sort that’s always laughing at myself, because learning how to laugh was the only way to survive. So when I come across pictures like this, I usually get a good chuckle.

Yep, that’s me. You have no idea how emotionally messed up I am.

Eight years ago I realized that a certain state of brokenness was utterly essential for writing. You can’t be completely incapacitated, but you also can’t just talk about it with a good friend over a cup of tea to solve a problem — it needs to be beyond what you can ordinarily express.

It turns into creativity.

And you cannot write without creativity.