“Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences” Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.
Many writers live within the “Bell Jar”. Seduced into that illusion of containment. A belief that no one can touch me, I can observe from within my safe, transparent shield. There is a difference between our minds and those of non-writers, the ceaseless narrative, the questions we keep under our breath too shy or too polite to ask. Quarrelling characters often bide for space and time within my head, yet I know I am not mad. Not as long as I can hold pen to paper anyway.