Writing is work. Writing is hard work. It may not be back-breaking physically but it is mentally challenging. My brain feels like a construction worker at the end of a project. If you believe writers just sit around and type and have it easy, you're ignorant. I feel totally comfortable saying so.

Yesterday I spoke to one of the rare survivors of a suicide attempt by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. 98% of jumpers die. He's a statistical improbability. He's been through a lot in the 6 years since that fateful day. His life is a miracle, but it hasn't been an easy recovery from the mental illness he struggles with. Now he's back on track, has his life in balance and he is working to educate others about suicide prevention.

Just now I got off the phone with a fellow whose friend jumped less than two months ago. This fellow had purposely not gotten close to any new friends lately because he had lost a number of friends in tough ways. Then he started to open up and bam...the guy jumped. This fellow's body was never recovered. He had only been married four months.

Whenever the media reports on suicide attempts from the bridge, it draws copycat jumpers. Someone, whose identity I won't reveal, told me: "By writing about this, just know you're going to kill someone."

It's funny because the issue of responsibility is at the heart of this article. Should I feel responsible for writing about it? I don't know if I should, but I do.

Look for the article next week in The Pacific Sun.

I'm fried.

JPR