Sometimes I don’t think people realize that we write novels to escape. I know people talk about how people read books to escape but I don’t know if people realize the impact of writing to escape, to travel to another world that doesn’t have problems, or problems that can be solved by stabbing something rather than stabbing yourself.
I don’t think people realize that the reason I write is because, more often than not, I need to escape. I need to leave reality to a fantasy world where I don’t feel lonely, where I’m not diabetic, where I don’t have mental illness. It’s not that it’s the end of the world being diabetic/mentally ill, it’s just that sometimes you wish to escape the stigma that comes with being someone like me.
I don’t think people understand that writing is a way to escape the knowledge that our social system is built on economy rather than individual people.
Sometimes I sit back and I wonder, “what would I do without writing?”
And the honest answer is that I don’t know. And I don’t think I ever want to know.
Sometimes I wonder, if I didn’t have so many problems if I would have ever written Child of Mercy. Would I have created Wren if I wasn’t so wildly trying to leave my own body and become someone who was needed, someone who was important, someone who didn’t second guess herself?
And the honest answer is that I don’t know.
I’m glad that I’m able to create. But I write this August 21st 2021. And I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten anywhere. If I will ever get anywhere.
I know that I’m writing my novel to escape, but I hope someone else who really needs it will also be able to escape their own life, to become a little girl running through the woods with a sword on her back. I just hope that I can make someone go, “I know not all days are meant to be remembered, but I want to remember this.”
Sometimes, I don’t think people realize how important writing is to our world. How is it that one person is able to sit down and write opinions coded through metaphors? How is that one person is able to sit down and create a physical product out of emotion and heart? How can it be done?
Sometimes, I don’t think people realize how beautiful writing is.
Sometimes, I sit out my desk and look outside my window and go, “I think writing is one of the only reasons I’m still alive.”
Because writing was a way for me to momentarily escape my suffering. It was like shock from a wound. It was my way to leave pain behind, and now I’m beyond it. I’ve gotten so far, and I’m still here.
And now that I’ve done it, I want to help other people, too. I will positively touch other people. I will have a good impact. I will change something. I will fix something.
But it’s August 21st 2021. And I don’t know if I will ever get anywhere.