So of course I’ll allow myself to be harvested and pulped and fermented and dried and roasted and ground and partitioned into my little container — one of a billion trillion unique experiences — and stored till convenient.
Don’t be a Keurig K-Cup
Oliver Shiny

That’s the crap you do for money. Don’t do this unless someone is paying you (sorry, that was bossy…)

The writing you do for you contains your soul.

Because you went for a metaphor, here’s another; to write without sharing your soul, woven into your words so it is a tapestry inextricably linked to you and you alone is like running a race and stopping just short of the finish tape. You gotta run hard through it, collapse from exhaustion and wail in anguish because every cell in your body is exploding with excitement, fear, pride and good old lactic acid several dozen meters past the finish line. If you do this well, people who matter; people who have coached you and cared for you and comforted you — those precious few — will be there at the end, hugging your sweaty body and propping you up on your wobbly legs, holding you so you can stand proud even as the tears stream uncontrollably from your exhausted body.

If you don’t feel that after you’ve hit publish, dig deeper. Trust the people who matter will be there with you at the end. Everybody else is just a spectator.

A book recommendation. A friend of mine is a powerful writer, so powerful that she scares the sh*t out of people and they lash out at her work. Her name is Jane Devin and she wrote a book called Elephant Girl. I hope it’s still on Amazon. If you can’t afford it or she has pulled it off, I will get you a copy … it’s that important. Read it. Over 700 pages. This comment will make more sense after you run her race with her.