I used to hate that I am a sharer. I share information I receive, and can not keep a secret. I don’t even like to try keeping a secret, actually. It makes me anxious. When people preface something with, “you can’t tell anyone this,” I am curious, but it is probably best not to tell me. I will tell someone. At least Steve, maybe more people. I thought of this as only a bad quality, until I read Lena Dunham’s book, and realized that if the world was full of only secretive people, we would never make any advances. It’s not a bad thing. Not always, at least.

I read Gone Girl and was disturbed by the meticulous secrets Amy kept. The story seemed so implausible to me because I can’t imagine keeping a secret for more than a month, let alone years. I do remember trying to be a private person, long ago. But the problem with that is that I come from a family of sharers. OK, busybodies. I kept diaries that were discovered. If I told one person something in confidence, it was leaked nearly instantly and soon people I didn’t want to know knew too much about me. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. So I gave it up and just joined in on the sharing.

Word spread because word will spread. Stories and secrets fight, stories win, shed new secrets, which new stories fight, and on.
 ~ China Miéville, Embassytown 

It works for me, really, since writing is my life passion and in order to write, there must be something to write about. I am officially embracing it now. I admire those of you who can keep secrets, but as for me, I will share

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