Cooking is one of my hobbies. I cook most days of the week, probably more than I actually write. Who’s to say if my cooking is more delicious than my writing. But let’s leave that to the side for the moment.

I sliced the tip of my finger the other day. One of those kitchen occupational hazards that happen from time to time. The first thing that goes through your brain is that maybe it wasn’t sliced enough to bleed. That’s always turns out to be wishful thinking. I look at the finger, see the little flap created by the cut, and wait to see if the blood appears. It inevitably does, and so I search out a bandage to stop the bleeding, usually after trying to see if I can continue cooking without the blood actually interfering. It’s stupid, yes. But there is no one lazier than a cook who doesn’t want to stop, even for blood. So I get it covered it and carry on. The food was good nonetheless.

Two days later, I’m sitting down at my computer to write. The bandage is long gone. The wound hasn’t bleed in a day. I don’t think about it. I have the story in mind. It’s a good story. One that will take deep concentration and time. Maybe a year. Maybe more. The wound will be long gone by the time this story is ready. But on this day, there it is, sitting on the tip of my finger, just waiting for me to start writing.

I do. And with each use of my right hand ring finger, it’s tip hits the “l” and the “o” and the “.” and each time it does, I feel the pain. “Does” causes one pain. So does “feel.” A word like “hello” would cause the pain to be felt three times. A harmless word. A good word. A friendly word, that causes pain.

After every single line I feel the pain more and more and I realize that it is painful to write.

And that’s when it hits me: indeed it should be painful.

Writing should be one of the most painful endeavors you do. It’s physically exhausting, sitting and crouching and moving the back to get more confortable. It’s mentally exhausting as you think and think and think and erase and think again and realize how terrible it is only to do it again when you can’t think of anything better. It’s taxing on the brain. But more importantly, writing should be painful in your soul. It takes a part of you, sometimes a small part, sometimes a large part, and it exposes it to the elements of the world. It’s not a comfortable feeling. But quite a necessary one. For if writers don’t have a way to release that which is burdening them, they are to be pittied much more than my finger when it strikes “l” or “o.”

Though I would like it better if I was able to type pain-free, perhaps the results wouldn’t be quite as enjoyable.