“Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.” – Natalie Goldberg

I’m not sure what prompted me to write this. I’d been banging my head against the desk, trying to write something else, when late Sunday afternoon—exhausted, anxious—I asked my husband if he needed anything; I was going to the grocery store.

When I came back, I vowed to try one last time: Write whatever came out.

What came out was a confession.

I had not been to the grocery store. I was at the liquor store, buying a fresh bottle of whiskey, wondering if the cashier recognized me.

“If you do not tell the truth about yourself, you cannot tell it about other people” – Virginia Woolf.

This is the pact I made with myself when I began to take myself seriously as a writer. And even though I wanted to scratch it out, write another newsletter over it, the woman I respect—the writer I hope to become—knew this belonged to the pact.

Thus, my next sentence:
I write this Sunday night with a glass of whiskey beside me.
I don’t need it, but I want it.
I want it so much that I may as well need it.