I haven’t written for months. This is because I’m afraid.
At a writing camp I attended in early November, I was told that what you post on the internet or on blogs, is considered published. That sent a surge of panic through my whole body, and of course I went through and deleted the earlier drafts of poems and pieces that I was hoping to publish. Ever since then, I’ve been afraid to write what I’ve wanted to. I guess you could call it optimistic fear—I’m scared to write what could eventually become something—so that’s good, I guess. But not really. No matter the reason, I’m still not writing on my blog. I’m writing, that’s for sure. 107 page thesis, 323 pages this semester—I’ve loved writing and re-writing. But as the writing for classes increased, the blogging decreased. And I want to change that.
Finals are over now, I can take a breath and write what I want. My emotions are crazy and all over the place but what’s the point of pretending I’m okay? What’s the point of writing, if I’m going to restrict how I’m feeling?
There is no point. So here comes the honesty, and the real me.
Without trying to restrict what I want to say for fear of being published, or fear of what others think when they read.
I hope you have a wonderful Sunday,