This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here?
I had learned to view writing as a shamefully pointless pursuit. People would ask me when I was publishing my work or telling me that I should. I didn’t want to publish it. I didn’t even really want others to see it. I just wanted to write for the love of it. Perhaps my unwillingness to let others view what I’d written stemmed from a fear of not being good enough. I’ve certainly been made to feel that way enough times in my life. But that really couldn’t be it. I’ve written articles for a local independent paper and influenced the views of others. I know that people like my writing.
Fiction is different though. It’s personal. What if people think my baby is ugly? I don’t know yet whether I would care about this but I’m worried that I might. It’s those “people” again. What if people don’t like it? What if people say I can’t write? What if people go out of their way to write trashy reviews? What if people make me feel like shit? Who the hell are these people and why do I give them such power?
I decided to stop getting distracted by “people”. I decided my plans deserved action. I decided that my life was worth my time. I made decisions to cut things out of my life that were making me disappear, making my needs invisible. There will be more about that later, I expect.
For now, I am happy to have made those choices. I’ll be sharing my thoughts about writing here – what inspires and challenges me, what my writing process looks like and inviting others to share their experiences.
Do you give “people” power?