Confessions Of A Writer #10

Writing is never safe and lowers your inhibitions.

There is something about writing and being a writer where the words “Be careful” get vacuum sucked out the window very quickly by the winds of your I-don’t-give-a-sh**-I-just-want-to-be-noticed attitude.  Because anyone who says they write and do not care if they ever get noticed or become successful might as well be vomiting bullsh**.

Writing is messy.  Somewhere in the haze of this messiness you begin to lower your inhibitions about whether you should publish something because it might be complete crap and not your best work, but you put it up anyway because you know that there are even crappier pieces of work out there.  You begin to lower your inhibitions about the amount of swearing and violence in your work because you understand that compared to some of the stuff that is out there, your work is tame.  Most importantly, you lower your inhibitions about being careful, because you could be the reincarnated hybrid of Mother Teresa and Gandhi, and there would still be people who do not like you and have a problem with you.

I was looking back at some of the earliest postings on this blog, and I realize now that the reason why I was posting about topics not really related to what I wanted this blog to be about was because I still had those inhibitions about writing.  Writing is about exposing yourself, metaphorically speaking.  You can’t hide behind a computer screen and pray you can keep faking it until you make it.  You need to show people the real you, not some puffed up caricature balloon version of you.

When I first started this blog, I was hesitant about revealing the real me: a struggling writer hoping to be successful.  I thought that if I wrote about the challenges of being a writer, then it would take away from my chances of success because I would be admitting that I am not an instant bestseller, so why would people want to read my blog?

But I think people want to know the truth more than some carefully scripted lie.  And the truth is this: it’s really freaking hard.  But the truth is also this: I am unapologetically ambitious and driven.

I am not a bestselling author.  Yet.  As I mentioned in “My Inner Writer Monologue,” there is always hope.


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