At Long Last
I miss writing. I think about writing at least three times per hour. Alas, thinking and doing aren't the same thing. If they were, I 'd imagine the world would be filled with books magically finished and setting on shelves and collecting dust. Or maybe, the world would be filled with communicators and poets and screen writers and novelists and all our inner angst and fear would disappear into one cosmic volcano. A black hole of drama and theatre. What an amazing thought. I should write about that one day...
The thing is, writing is scary. Every day there's another horrid critic out there slamming writers for not being scholarly, for not meeting some imagined level of excellence and lambasting women for having politically incorrect fantasies and having the gall to put them on paper. Its no wonder there are so many like me, writing madly away in our minds fearing the result of actually putting words out into the ethos for others to condemn, to judge, to hate on while never taking that same step and writing something new or original.
Its a scary world we live in. Nobody can be okay anymore. Nothing can be average or different. We've gone to the wrong side of excellence where everyone expects perfection yet so few are willing to even try. The world waits, with drooling, gaping maws ready to pounce on the first sign of imagined weakness. Or screaming that a certain story didn't measure up to their own ideals or blew past a comfort level.
There is a lot to be afraid of. At least, I think there is. I could make a list a hundred pages long and title it, "Things That Will Probably Kill Me" and nowhere on that list would "writing" be found. Unless of course I lived in a country where writing by women wasn't allowed. Through the luck of the stars and fate and random acts of DNA, I'm here in Western Massachusetts where I could write pretty much anything without fearing for my life. And so, I'll take some bit of solace in that and do the thing that I love so much. Telling a great story.
You see, if I think of it as story telling and not Writing with a Capital W, I'm not afraid anymore. I feel silly admitting to this fear, but there it is. This is why friends. This is what stops me from writing. Fear. Fear of failure. Its stupid, I know it is. Nobody has a single expectation that I would be successful at this. Nobody even cares if I do write or if I don't. And so, I'll write for the person who does : me.
A few days ago, I started a brand new blog. Its a fitness and health thing, one of my newer passions. It was the writing of it that got me moving again. That beautiful, simple act of seeing thoughts and words line up in perfect order that reminded me how much I love it. I'm scared about where I'll have to go with it. Its about a new challenge I've set for myself and in order for it to matter, I'll have to post some pics and things that I'm honestly afraid to. In fact, I'm not so sure I can. One thing at a time. Words. Let's once again start with those and see how things shape up.
Nice to see you. Thanks for the visit.
The thing is, writing is scary. Every day there's another horrid critic out there slamming writers for not being scholarly, for not meeting some imagined level of excellence and lambasting women for having politically incorrect fantasies and having the gall to put them on paper. Its no wonder there are so many like me, writing madly away in our minds fearing the result of actually putting words out into the ethos for others to condemn, to judge, to hate on while never taking that same step and writing something new or original.
Its a scary world we live in. Nobody can be okay anymore. Nothing can be average or different. We've gone to the wrong side of excellence where everyone expects perfection yet so few are willing to even try. The world waits, with drooling, gaping maws ready to pounce on the first sign of imagined weakness. Or screaming that a certain story didn't measure up to their own ideals or blew past a comfort level.
There is a lot to be afraid of. At least, I think there is. I could make a list a hundred pages long and title it, "Things That Will Probably Kill Me" and nowhere on that list would "writing" be found. Unless of course I lived in a country where writing by women wasn't allowed. Through the luck of the stars and fate and random acts of DNA, I'm here in Western Massachusetts where I could write pretty much anything without fearing for my life. And so, I'll take some bit of solace in that and do the thing that I love so much. Telling a great story.
You see, if I think of it as story telling and not Writing with a Capital W, I'm not afraid anymore. I feel silly admitting to this fear, but there it is. This is why friends. This is what stops me from writing. Fear. Fear of failure. Its stupid, I know it is. Nobody has a single expectation that I would be successful at this. Nobody even cares if I do write or if I don't. And so, I'll write for the person who does : me.
A few days ago, I started a brand new blog. Its a fitness and health thing, one of my newer passions. It was the writing of it that got me moving again. That beautiful, simple act of seeing thoughts and words line up in perfect order that reminded me how much I love it. I'm scared about where I'll have to go with it. Its about a new challenge I've set for myself and in order for it to matter, I'll have to post some pics and things that I'm honestly afraid to. In fact, I'm not so sure I can. One thing at a time. Words. Let's once again start with those and see how things shape up.
Nice to see you. Thanks for the visit.
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