Quickie: A Question For Writers

by P. Braithwaite

I think it’s hard to love a writer. Not because we’re insufferable, isolated moody folks, but because writing is everything.

I’m writing this memoir and I find myself stretched to the edge of my sanity — who am I? What story am I telling? Am I doing my best? In the midst of writer’s block, I don’t know.

What I am learning, however, is that I will perish in service to the writing. I will sacrifice anything for it. I imagine that makes me very hard to love.

Would you ever let your lover come b/w you and your work?

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