I have found through the years that writing is painful. It’s painful to create art in general because it takes a piece of you—a living, breathing piece. It’s like peeling a layer of many other layers of wallpaper from a wall to expose something that has never been seen. Creating something one is passionate about shows the many hidden layers of the human soul. Furthermore, this is the insanity of the artist: the need for this pain. Because without this pain, there is no room for growth. I felt this pain in writing my debut novel. It was amazing to be able to share my personal heartache with the world through my book, after so many years of silence, but it also hurt because I was reliving the pain. I think this pain breathes life into a book; it gives a grain of something that is real and relatable.

Evaporates As Frail Lace