Thursday, February 4, 2016


I can't think of a time when I sit down to write and a voice doesn't tell me, "Don't." It reminds me in a mocking voice, "You're a blogger. You are not a novelist, you aren't much of a poet anymore, you were never a playwright. You are a blogger and a subpar one at that." Whose voice is this and why won't they shut up?

It must be my voice, right? No. It's my fear. My voice, if I pause to listen to it, is strong. It knows, it is steady, it is quiet -- which is why I must listen. My fear, on the other hand, is one loud mothereffer. It demands attention, like a bad quick loan commercial. Fear is insecure -- fear is insecurity itself -- which is why it is so vocal. It doesn't have the quiet confidence of my authentic voice. I'm sick of fear. I prefer silence.

I am going to give myself a break before I break. I must have said that exact sentence at some point in the past. Multiple times. We all need a vacation from fear from time to time. Sometimes I'm tempted to make it a permanent vacation and just live in a state of bliss forever, but that's not really possible. Besides, I'm beginning to suspect that fear serves a purpose -- but different kinds of fear. The fear I'm talking about is the fear of oneself. That's the bad one, dudes. That's the one which paralyzes, not propels.

I'm on the verge of figuring out how to hush this insecurity... I have some thinking to do. And drinking. Drinking of coffee. But probably tea. Less caffeine, still warm, just right. Just write. There you go. That's one way to hush the insecurity: Just write.

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