Does it really take courage to discuss what we are afraid of, or maybe even ashamed of? I am long past this question. Now, when I write, I mainly seek to discover more of my layers, to raise my level of consciousness, to help others and myself. I don’t see the red flags, I don’t hear the warnings, and I don’t care about the land mines that could explode under my feet. I simply ambush myself, and then I charge at it and peel off my skins until I am completely naked on paper. That’s when I become both the voyeur and the exhibitionist; the banquet and its host. And every time a bomb blows up in my face I feel ecstatic, because then I will be able to gift pieces of my own flesh to the readers.
