On Writing

Writing is demanding and I cannot both mistreat myself and write, or both permit mistreatment and write. It has been difficult since learning that permitting mistreatment was what would earn my keep, and that mistreating myself was how I could prove my worth.

Writing, despite requiring effort, is a true pleasure and I have always felt good, not bad, doing it. So I feel guilty about it, since to do it I cannot mistreat myself, and since it does not cause me to suffer. I also don’t feel legitimate doing it, because in my era acceptable writing, for women, was an act of ventriloquism.

Yet it is fun, it is always fun to sling words together. And it is shocking to see before me how irrational the things I learned about writing are.


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