These last two weeks seem like they are going to be excruciating. When I first began this session, it was so exciting to keep thinking of new letters, to think about who and what I would like to write to, but now I feel like there are walls closing in on me.
I’ve discovered that there is too much to say and there are too many things that cannot be said. It’s twisting my concentration. I’m tangled in the words.
That’s the terrible part about being a writer– having to divide reality from art. It is inevitable that writing shows glimpses of autobiography, but there must be some degree of control. Then again, the whole point of these letters (for me at least) is to explore personal truths. Tough, this.