On Writing

I know that magic is real because writing exists. Writers pull back the curtains we’d ordinarily hide behind and force us to see the things we don’t want to see. The loss that drives the villain, the malice in the hero. All of the tarnished humanity that is so difficult to see in the supermarket line. That someone can sit down at a page and type or write out the story of a soul is amazing to me. That a writer can pull, from the depths of their crippling loneliness, a story of strength. That pain can tell you how a heart breaks.

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