Well — this day was bound to come. Truthfully, I should be happy. This must mean that I’ve attained some legitimacy as a writer. Now what?
According to the helpful little counter on my admin page, I’ve written 114 posts before this one. 112 of them published, 2 of them saved as drafts. I’m happy with that plain fact. I wanted to write. I’ve written. But…
This process of writing was intended to exorcise my fear of failing at this quintessentially intimate act. Since I was old enough to remember, books were best friends. I grew up in libraries. The first thing I wanted to do was write. This entire blog — and certainly everything in the “Open Notebook” category — is about throwing aside that fear of failure at this long-held dream. I’ve committed to write — and place my writing out for all to see, unafraid.
This process has been exciting and surreal. I enjoy the work. Right now, sitting here with an adult beverage at hand and the house quiet except for the noise of my fingers moving jerkily across the keyboard, I feel at ease. I haven’t yet figured out how to make this the thing I do everyday… but I’m working on that.
Along the way, I’ve grown as a writer in the technical sense. My writings about my youngest, known with sincere love as the Goon, have been read by more people than I’d ever imagined. (The latest one is here.) His story looks back in 3 main chapters stretching back 2 1/2 years. As I read the earlier posts, I appreciate how my writing has improved.
Which brings me to my dilemma.
One of those 2 drafts I mentioned above? It’s ready to go. Like everything else I’ve written it started with a desire to say something, some work, polishing, and sits waiting. Except — I think it’s boring.
It talks about my observations on an incredibly emotional day. I’m grateful to have shared that moment with some dear friends. But I think my post falls short. It’s sincere and is written in my voice… but it’s boring.
So to you, my dear readers — especially those of you in that do creative work… what do I do now? I don’t think this one is worth sharing. But not because of some childish fear of failure. Some binary, white-hat-or-black-hat choice. This is not the fear I started out with: either I am a brilliant writer from day one or I should just give up an never write another word. This is a qualitative assessment. I think I’ve written better stuff. Far better, if I’m not afraid of sounding boastful. (And clearly I’m not.)
Truly, I’d love to hear from you. Thoughts? I guess I’m happy that I’ve apparently matured as a writer. (That thought honestly just came to me as I finished the prior paragraph.) I don’t think I was prepared for this evolution in my writing. So what now?