Three

Has your whole life turned inside out and upside down because of something you wrote? Did you think that the sentences you crafted might be consequential but not ruinous? That to say what you wanted to say would be more right for the world than it would be damaging for you? Did people you once thought supported you try to tell you not to say it, to focus elsewhere, to leave it to someone or something else? Did words leave your mouth or your fingers in a rush of relief and vindication only to be met by fury and violence by those who rendered themselves victims of your words, even when you didn’t ascribe your words to them? And did those self-prescribed victims make it their mission to then make sure you would never speak or write again?

When I started Blacklisted three years ago today, I decided that I wouldn’t walk away from the page, because there is no life I could live without the only security I have: my voice. When you’ve opened the vortex, you have to keep flying through the turbulence. You cannot let someone else write the next chapter for you, or – worse – stun you into an eternal silence. The truth always wants to speak, and it will find its way out one way or another.