escrevinhanças & scribbles

  “Joy is not made to be a crumb” and/or “joy in not made to be a crown” both fragile certainties make sense to me. Although, I confess, there are times where I want some joy so badly, that I pray to gods without names, if they could please throw me some rests of it. It does not need to be much, just enough for me to forget this pain for a minute or two. Other times, I wear my joy as a crown, I become one of these annoying moms that simply assume that people appreciate advice about how to live well. I think I developed it as a mechanism to desperately try to make my joy last longer. It never works. I often end up alone and empty, sad, having to pretend that the crown was still there when it had already vanished to the other side of the moment, unreachable. Writing at times gives me joy. Other times simply gives me space to be. Like today. It is a gray and rainy day, inside and out. I am mourning the end of a relationship that I am not ready to let go. I am terrified of what

  What do I know about myself as a writer? And why am I asking this question? Yesterday, I had a chance to think about these questions in the company of some amazing women writers that as me joined the Feminist Online Writing Comunity by NSU. (You can check it out here). One of the questions that is growing inside of me for a while now, is whether we can think together (or rather all that we can do together is to collect material to think later, in solitude). That is an enormous question that I hope I will address in another moment. Today I want to share some of the ideas and struggles that we talked about yesterday. I used to think that one is a writer , but I changed my opinion. One becomes a writer , and there is just one way to arrive there, one needs to write. That is why we were asking ourselves what we know about ourselves as writers. So we can find the time, the space and the courage to write. Moreover, I am in a moment of my life where I believe that whatever we be