Psst, friend!

See this?

It’s my secret.

Writing. Words on paper.

But, I’m afraid to show anyone

just in case they laugh.

Coz, I mean, really

who am I kidding?

I’m no Byron.

 

I used to think that writing and I had a love hate relationship, if a relationship can be defined as a chubby nerd (which I was) crushing on the popular high school jock that is. So I did what every self-respecting curvy gal did (nope, not diet), I hid behind pillars and posts and stalked the jock and swooned every time he smiled at someone behind me and I just happened to be in the way. That’s how I’d written, you see. Sporadically and always shying from writing down the stories and poems in my head. I felt that somehow putting words on paper and producing something would validate what I’d always known: mediocrity. Seriously, I’m not Jane Austen. I’m not E.B. White. Neither am I Hemingway or (insert every famous author here). And to me, that meant I shouldn’t even try.

But, as every writer knows, the pen and paper (or keyboard and computer) are magnets. My hand is drawn to them when something (a scene, a line) pops into my head. These days, I’m inclined to actually acknowledge those somethings. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still very much a chubby nerd (LOVE rice!), but now writing and I have an understanding. No hiding. And whatever finished work comes out is something of which I’m (mostly) proud. I may never reach the status any of the authors I admire have attained, and that’s ok (might actually be for the best!). I’m me, and I write for the simple pleasure of putting words together.

Happy writing!!

InsecureWritersSupportGroup

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