The stories we keep...
Recently I was asked by a friend why I don't write anymore. The one, simpler, answer is that I actually write a lot, but it's all paid gigs for specific publications and I have this silly little habit of when I get paid for something (as in it becomes work), I stop doing it in my free time. Even when I like it. Or is it, especially when I like it? But my idiosyncrasies aside, the more real, much more complicated answer is... I am currently living mostly in stories that is not mine to tell. Some of them will never be mine, so they will only be written in my heart. Some of them I have been given permission to share, but I need time to do it justice, to unpack it with the care it deserves. Some of them have now become part of my story, and it is possible that I will lay it down in words. Not speak them, although probably that too. Write them. I feel safe in written words. But do not think that I don't have stories. Being quiet does not necessarily mean I have not...