Dear Abby, or Minerva, or Whomever is heading up these lifestyle columns these days,
I have to write this to you because that’s what whiny people who don’t really want to confront their problems do: they divert them, instead of facing them head-on. My Gram would call people like this, people like me, scaredy rats.
You might note that I’m a good writer. Great, maybe even amazing. You might also note that I’m not a published writer. I’m a writer who’s afraid of writing publicly.
It’s one thing to write for my blog. I own my blog. I pay the rent at Ever So Roco, and what I don’t want in this space gets nixed. It’s another thing to write for an open forum.
The thing is, Abby-Minerva-Whomever, I’m controlling to my core. If you put me in a pot and set the flame on high, most of what I do boils down to pure control. I would love to be published, but I’m afraid of putting my ideas where I can’t control them. I’m afraid of being wrong, afraid of being crucified in a comment section, afraid of looking stupid. Maybe not that last one, as I am writing this to you.
As someone with a critical eye for words, I often read published pieces and say “ I could have done that.” The answer that never fails to echo back? “But you didn’t.”
I already know what you’re going to say. Nothing, because you’re not real and/or I’m not actually sending this to anyone. I already know what I’m going to do. Something, because at the end of the day no matter what I do or where I write, I will never control a single thing in my life. I just thought I would confess.
Thanks for all of your help!
Signed, Scaredy Rat
This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April (Day 8, Demolish) a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge. Catch up with my other #WYAOApril posts: Day 1. Surrender. Day 2. Ascend. Day 3. Heal. Day 4. Spill. Day 5. Ignite. Day 6. Love. Day 7. Complicate. Day 8. Demolish.