blog post no. 2

I really resonated with the passage in that I am always so intimidated by final works. Writing is difficult as it is, but when I look at an example piece or something I’ve been inspired by, I seem to shrivel up in the face of it, unable to form a coherent sentence fit enough to grace my own paper. Even with the understanding that “shitty first drafts” exist for a reason, it doesn’t do much to calm me down, which seems a bit like I’m running away from the point, but that’s how it is anyways.

I used to love writing, and I still do sometimes. I would write ridiculous and lofty sounding things and then try to dig deep inside my shallow middle-class self to put some real meaning behind it. Of course, as a younger kid, I couldn’t, so I would make something up and have my characters or whatever poor tortured soul of a persona I had created deal with the plot of the poem or story. But as I got older, and my reading level rose, I became aware that nothing I wrote held a candle to what I was reading, and since very few of my works made it past my house, I didn’t have anyone tell me how to make it better, or to at least edit my wordy run-on sentences. (As you can see, they’re still a problem).

In a way, I guess, writing is letting people see the way your mind wraps around something, whether it be in the form of a poem, novel, or a food review. That has the potential to make anyone feel exposed. I feel like if I mess up, or overshare, or write something stupid, even if no one is there to see it, it’s like I’m not good enough, and I should just stop before I begin.