trying is terrifying

Stagnacy seems to do nothing for me however, so I am choosing to be terrified. I have this issue with being perceived in a way that’s not true to who I am, which is why the last thing of mine that was properly published is a small article in a college paper from at least four lives ago. I have started this particular piece and stopped it and deleted it and recreated it so many times over the last month that I can feel my creativity atrophying. 

There are always reasons to put off things like this, and they always seem incredibly valid in the moment. I’ve started a new job, I’ve been through some rough emotional times the last few weeks, I’m missing people and feeling stuck – these are all valid things that have been happening, but not enough of a reason (or reasons) why I can’t share what I’ve been working on. And holy shit do I want to share what I’ve been working on. 

And by “things like this” I mean to say that I’ve been writing. Kind of like an insane woman. I have four physical notebooks that have my scribbles for different ideas and things that I’m working on, and at any given moment I have three documents open for different stories and projects. I have pen ink all over my hands more often than not, so much so that I have to keep my nails painted black so that it doesn’t look too unnatural. There are so many things I am creating that I cannot wait to share so that I’m no longer the only one enjoying these stories and worlds – and working on them has been both an amazing blessing and somewhat of an issue. 

The truth is that I’ve been struggling with what I think most artists struggle with, which is that the moment you begin to share the pieces you’ve been working on there is a part of you and of those pieces that no longer belong to you. They no longer belong to me and my little world alone, but they now exist in ways that I will never know, understand, or experience. And that is something that worries me because that also means that there is a part of my soul that exists inside of someone else that I may never meet. There is a beauty to that that the romantic in me loves to no end, but not having a lot of experience with just releasing my stories into the world I wish I could hear what everyone thinks. I never will, and letting go of that has been oddly difficult for me. 

I think that there is a lot of anticipation that I’ve built up about all of this, strictly in my own head. I have wanted to just start writing and publishing for so long that I have routinely gotten overwhelmed by the idea of doing it “correctly”. The massive flaw with this is that especially today there is no “correct” way to be an author or share what you’re working on. Some are lucky enough to get picked up and get insane deals as soon as their career starts, and some indie publish their own work until they die. Terrifyingly enough, this is what feels most correct to me and so I’m going to continue following my intuition until I get stopped. 

All this to say, I am going to start posting short stories once a month. They’ll be more modern fiction, and they each will have a different but connected theme. My current plan is to post one the last day of every month – giving myself a deadline has worked in the past and I anticipate that whoever ends up being the one reader I have regularly will give me enough fortitude to hold myself to that deadline.