Keywords: miscellaneous
There is a little bit of narcissism required to be a writer, to believe that people actually give a shit about what you think. And after the publishing of my book, with the podcasts and the interviews and the speeches I’ve given, I’ve come to realize that people read my words and still don’t understand me. Perhaps because they project their own experiences into the writing, perhaps because so much time has passed that I am no longer the person who wrote that book/those words, or perhaps because I am such a shit writer that I can’t express myself well enough to be understood. It feels like a mixture of all three of those possibilities. By the time you read these words, I’ll already not be the person who wrote them. I’ll have hopefully grown, and I’ll have moved on. And there is acceptance in knowing that the words I write are ephemeral to me. Too bad the people who read my words are seemingly locked into the space and time in which they are written.
https://bambooandbananas.org/on-writing
Fuck With News 