Blah, blah, blah. Eve, don't you ever shut up?
My little vacation away from writing was a little too long, I think. In the middle of September I posted a few things I had already written and was impatient to have out in the public arena.
Personal life yields because it cannot fight back against me; I take what stories I can, what stories I want, what stories I think I can set into words and retool somehow to hide my sly, shy feelings. I'm a permissive creature and won't allow myself normally to change other people through my opinions and emotions, and I hate others to feel obligated or embarassed by my outward behavior. But the writing draws those things out of me, takes them out perhaps (to continue superficially with the theme of the issue) and pours them elsewhere, where they become more festive and decorated, and generally incognito.
Wouldn't it be better to say what I really mean? Well, no, not when I don't know what I'm talking about myself. It's known to happen. Plus, personal protocol is against it; logic can deal best with my brooding.
Read on.