Nine Scandalous, Scintillating Secrets of Sarah Paris

Well, maybe not scandalous — you’ll have to read to find out

The author wants to share her secrets. Photo from Sarah Paris.

I’m an open book — until I’m not.

I share snippets of myself with readers — freeze-framed moments that, I hope, reverberate with universal lessons. But I control my exposed vulnerability. The thought of sharing my all with strangers shoves cotton in my mouth and invites slam-dancing punks into my stomach.

During the day, my writing voice hides behind predetermined subjects and formats. My day writing gigs dictate what I write for money. Thus, whether I’m publishing on-platform or submitting elsewhere, I have to unlock my thoughts and attempt to create magic, or, for me, there’s no point. I’ve already written 5,000 words that day, why bother with a limp, navel-gazing piece?

I may fail in the attempt, but it’s never due to lack of trying.

I strive to write from an authentic space and my voice remains constant — I don’t mimic other writers. I don’t pick topics to please the algorithm. If a subject stirs me, then I hope I can articulate it in a manner that stirs others too. But I feign control over the secret spaces of my heart: I reveal enough to convince people they know me, without cracking the vault of those spaces at all.