One of my favorite writers is Anne Lamott, I love what she says in her book Bird by Bird: Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth. We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into those rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in-then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment. And that moment is home.
Having said all this, I have to confess: writing is sometimes the hardest part. It is delving, probing, asking:
What really matters? What does this mean? How can I tell this story?
Writing is a doing activity-full engagement of the mind, the hand, and mostly the sense of observation. It is a foil to the art of photography, where we merely observe without qualifying or describing. But the juxtaposition of words and images speak volumes about our essential selves.