This Is Why Writers Must Write.

A true writer must write for the sake of it. Here's why.

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I want to write about writing. About the freedom that comes from opening up one’s heart and allowing the secrets buried there to be exposed, to bring them out into the light, “Look at me! I am not so scary after all.” And for those of you secrets who may, in fact, be scary, it is good to conquer my fear of you. To face every one of you scary secrets for this is the only way to take away your power and claim it as my own.

I want to write about the sensuality of digging deep and connecting with what is inside. It makes my skin come alive, aching for touch. It makes my body long for caresses, deep, penetrating caresses, connecting my physical self with the deepest parts of my soul – a connection with the Universe. That kind of writing makes me come out from behind a wall, my fortress, the place where I’ve stayed safe and cut off from even myself, not really being a part of the world I’ve been observing.

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And when I open up with my writing, when I let thoughts and words flow freely across the page, nothing is held back and I long to be touched… to be a part of something… to feel connected… It is erotic, it is passionate; it is a sensual experience. When I write like that, I feel more alive than at any other time, almost drunk. It is intoxicating, exhilarating. The words flow, the energy sizzles, electrifying as each word, each thought pours out of me and onto the page. I need connection; I’ve longed for it when I didn’t even know it. Throughout my life I’ve been looking for it in the wrong places, looking in places that are outside myself. I kept thinking I’d found it, would think I was connected but discovered again and again that I’m still alone, cut off, remote and isolated inside myself, long buried like a dead woman but writing brings me back to life and when I stop, I die again.

When I let myself go to that depth with my writing, when I dare to lose control enough for it, I coax my heart to open and let the daylight in. I feel rejuvenated, vibrant, creative – on fire. And every time I go to that frighteningly intoxicating place, I wonder if this will be the time I will be allowed to live in this state of openness, this intensity of passion.

But it is too intense. There is no control. Only passion. So I access it again. I seek it out for it is divine. Utterly and completely divine – it is when I meet myself, when I am introduced to parts of myself I did not know existed and it is powerful, magical. I cannot believe how beautiful it is, even when I find ugliness and fear. I feel like someone else – someone completely different each time. Erotic, hedonistic, bohemian – it is pure “Id” when I go there and it is delicious.

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I welcome this part of myself into my consciousness every time. I love getting to know that woman, even when she is not pleasant. She plays with words, with art, with music in her own way, a way that I would never have known was mine, or could be mine. She expresses many things so passionately, even if only to herself and to me. No one else knows the secrets she and I share when we meet.

And no one ever will. It makes the intimacy more intimate. The passion more passionate. Every time we meet, she leaves me wanting more.

And so I wait and wonder what she will bring to me next time…

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