Writing fiction is therapeutic. It always has been.
It serves as a perfect disguise for my moody temperament. I can play around with these words, create an entire world that bears no similarity to my reality, yet is so me.
I get it. I get it why some writers need to write their words to make sense. I still have a very long way to go. I might possibly never get there. But the journey of scripting these words is a reprieve.
The hit that you get when you write something you believe in and it reads out better than you imagined in your head is unparalleled.
I swear that hit is sometimes the only thing keeping me tumbling to the ‘dark side’.
Speaking of which, any of you seen the trailer for Rebel in the Rye.
Can’t wait for this one!