The truth about writing Books.
This may be true to some and untrue to most but it’s the truth to me.
When you’re dealing with a difficult situation or a troublesome relationship or maybe dealing with the death of a loved one, instead of reaching out toward that Whiskey bottle or something more potent like Potency, we write.
We lose ourselves in the easiness of just sitting in front of your computer with your hands on the keyboard and just typing the first thing that comes into your mind.
We lose ourselves in the escapism it offers, the lenience of breathing freely and the way we morph our minds into our characters thoughts, their every move, gives us a kind of power that no one can take away. Not death, not pain, not the troubled relationship, not even a difficult situation.
When we write poems/lyrics, it’s a way to silently scream at the world that we’re in pain and that we need help but we wouldn’t voice the words verbally.
I don’t know if it’s just my opinion but that’s how I see the world.
If and when I write, I’m lost inside the imaginary world my stories offers. I would end up, occasionally, believing that what happens in my books, are real and that their fate lies at my fingertips but then I’d come back down to reality and I’d be angry at myself for ever thinking that.
Writing is the best kind of medicine to mend a broken heart, to forget about situations, to control something without hurting another. To plot, deceive, love, hate and describe.
It’s the best way to get over your pain, agony and loss.
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