Tesscribe

I write. Similarly, I poop. I've been pooping for as long as I can remember. I poop because of a process that I don't completely understand, and I don't have an intimate emotional relationship with my poop. I poop with relative predictability, but sometimes my pooping is impeded indefinitely, which has an understated but paralyzing impact on my life. Sometimes I create epic poops uncontrollably, and sometimes when I try desperately to poop my efforts are rewarded only with a few pathetic little bits of par-digested fecal matter. Often I can't stand the stink of my own poop. This is gross and offputting, right? This is something you really don't need to know about, right? Such, in my case, is the creative process.

When I've been complimented on my writing, I generally don't know how to respond beyond the default thanks. I'm vaguely flattered but mostly embarrassed and vulnerable; I've been caught on the toilet with my pants down. I really can't take much credit for my writing anyway. Beyond maintaining my diet, I barely have any control over the caliber of my poop. I can't explain what makes my poop how it is, whether or not other people think it's good for some reason. My body creates my poop, and my soul creates my writing - not me.