There's something about writing which, for me, provides an intense emotional release.
I began writing "Elsa" over the summer. It was, at that time, not exactly about me and most certainly not intended to be a story. It was a sketch; the tale of an hour of time, of an experience supremely significant yet hardly memorable (this was true for both the reader and Elsa, the character).
When I received the assignment to write a short story, I immediately thought of Elsa. Could I write anything better? But it was not a short story.
With the things I've learned about short story in class and through additional dialogue with the professor, I began to see the potential to alter "Elsa" from sketch to short story. But could I do this without compromising the effect which it was written for?
So I began to write... And "Elsa" is becoming more and more about me; a picture of my life. And, although I am still not finished, I am drained. To commit myself to paper is exhausting. It is vulnerable and intimidating. It is also both beautiful and spiritually beautiful.
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