“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” – Ernest Hemingway.
It’s funny how life can be. Two months ago I felt a compulsion to write. I was going through a difficult time after a pretty arduous few years that included a severe depression and a divorce.
On this particular evening, alone in a Holiday Inn Express hotel room in Tamworth, I sat down and typed. I really didn’t know what I would say, just that I had to write, to make some sort of sense of the thoughts, feelings and emotions that swirled inside of me. Writing was to be my catharsis, my way of avoiding the slide into the blackness that had engulfed me previously...
Labels: blogging, cathartic, depression, divorce, writing
