Thoughts on Writing | Writer & Author Teresa Little
Writing is intimate. It is art on a good day and maybe a glimpse into my soul, my persona, what moves and motivates me, or the belly button lint I am unraveling for the day. I've seen that in the works of others who I read consistently, the person who occasionally slips in. They are the shadow lurking in the back of the room, only noticed because you happened to glance up at just the right angle and see them. It isn't much, just a hint, because art, whatever the medium, isn't about the person creating. It is about the reflection of the something greater that the artist has received and their expression of that. I used to think only great writers had that ability. That when I sat down to write all my idiosyncrasies or that of my family and friends would end up on a page. My world is small and boring; of course, I'd borrow from life. The borrowing isn't from a friend's life or the person down the street – although they may have some great stuff to fill a chapter or two. The old adage -