“Too, it strikes me [that] in America we don’t much have a ‘sacred’ place or role for the isolate artist any longer. Everything has been sucked up into marketing and celebrity and the almighty commodity—so if you are a writer, you are meant to sell something. If it sells, it has worth. But in my heart of hearts, I just want to sneak individual books into the pockets of sad people.”—
One day you wake up and realize you’ve had no hardships. You’ve punched and kicked your way up from comfortable to more comfortable, and everything you resisted and later abandoned—because it was forced on you from outside—this is what you were best at. You’re left with little. You’ll just wink out.
If I blog about the things I’m a little less afraid of after last night, will I essentially be daring myself to question how afraid of them I really am, which will result in intimidation about approaching/coping with them in the future?