Just about every night, before bed, I’d scribble down thoughts, feelings, ideas, sometimes just unmitigated bile. I suppose this was a way of processing my emotions—not just what was happening with my family and the lawsuit, but thoughts about politics, history, love, whatever. I’d just spew emotion onto the pages, stream of consciousness, often in a mix of Armenian and English. It wasn’t about trying to write anything coherent or literary, it was simply about trying to make myself feel better.
