Writing from the Wound
Before the scar, there’s the story.
What does it mean to write from the wound?
They say you should write from the scar, not the injury itself. Trouble is, I’m impatient. I don’t like waiting that long.
Plus. What if writing is how you heal? What if it’s the only way to give shape to what happened?
I’ve been reading a lot of Joan Didion recently. The Year of Magical Thinking. Blue Nights. These aren’t books written from the scar, and Didion herself said, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
So, maybe it’s that.
This space began as a newsletter about the writing life. Mine, specifically, though in the beginning I was also trying to help people with theirs. We talked process, books, the usual chaos that feeds them. But over time it’s become something else.
I’ve been quiet for a while because I know I’ve changed this space more than once, and I didn’t want to relaunch again until I was sure what it needed to be.
This time, I am.
So I’m giving it a new name, one that feels truer: Writing from the Wound.
Writing from the Wound is about what happens before the scar.
It’s about where stories come from. Memory, obsession, fear. The things we keep trying to turn into meaning.
It’s not therapy, but it can be healing. It’s not confession, but it is honest. It’s not about me, but of course it is.
It isn’t self-help. I’m not here to tell anyone how to heal. But I do hope that in what I write, someone might see a little of themselves — the same ache, the same attempt to make sense of it.
I want this to be about the parts most people skip — the confusion, the honesty, the transformation.
It’s where the stories come from, and sometimes where they still hurt.
What you’ll find here
Free subscribers:
The weekly essays are where I make sense of things — the craft, the chaos, the obsessions that won’t let go. Polished enough to share, honest enough to sting. Sometimes that means books, films, art. Sometimes it’s just what it means to live a creative life that keeps breaking and rebuilding itself.
Paid subscribers:
The paid letters are where I stop editing myself. Fragments, confessions, work in progress. The parts I’d never publish anywhere else. More personal, more dangerous, sometimes the truest thing I write.
If you’re already here
If you’ve been reading for a while, thank you.
You’ll still get the weekly essays as before — that part will always be free.
But for those who want to come closer, there’s a paid tier: the private letters, the fragments, the work in progress.
For the next month, I’ve opened it at a reduced rate — a small thank-you to everyone who’s been here through the changes. After that, it’ll return to its usual price.
It isn’t about paywalls; it’s about building something that can last.
Either way, it means a lot that you’re still reading. It always has.
Welcome to Writing from the Wound. I’d love to know your thoughts.
Here’s to what still aches — and to writing our way through it.
