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writing. [Jan. 15th, 2015|03:32 pm]
sometimes listening to interviews from beirut, making notes, trying to write about this...
oh, i am so humbled.
and so pained.
sometimes this project feels equivalent to digging out my heart. i just want to curl up and cry. so many people have suffered, in the name of what? so many people continue to suffer in more and more barbaric ways, why?
cheryl strayed wrote in her "dear sugar" column about finishing her first book, and how it felt like taking a second beating heart out of her chest. and that is all well and good. and i think i understand that. but what the fuck, man? how am i supposed to account for the lives and the triumphs and the suffering of people whose experience i appreciate but will never fully understand?
i am still stumped by this question. i have 4 months to finish this thing. and i don't suppose i will ever be able to answer it.