So here I sit about to embark on the great adventure: the writing of a book. My book. But where to begin? Here, I suppose. Just the intimate privacy of me, my hand, the pen and the paper. There is no audience. There are no readers- except my critical eye who has promised to critique only that which is not full-out expression. To critique timidity, a superficial and parasitical “emotion” that loves to repress.
Who cares what all this bullshit is? The question is, “Will it get expressed?” I challenge myself to a duel, in hopes that the self-confident, egomaniacal creator wins over the tired little pleaser, who likes to make no waves.
What’s to become of all this spewing? This writing of words? This non-stop verbal vomit, this desperate plea for recognition and understanding? And does a result matter? I leave these questions to simmer in the recesses and hallways of my mind. I know this won’t be pretty. But it will be honest, and honesty is always beautiful.
– Katarina Thorsen, August 5, 1994, Vancouver BC Canada