I’ve been writing pieces and parts of different stories that have been floating around in my brain but haven’t found a way to connect things or make one cohesive narrative yet. I truly have at least 5 different partial story ideas scribbled into journals or half-typed into random Word docs. But I haven’t been able to finish anything.
I wonder if part of that is a mental block because I fear putting my work out there. It’s vulnerable to say, “I made this” and hope that others like it. I also think about the fact that if I actually do write something and try to get it printed/published, my family will want to read it. Do I want my family reading what I write? What will my super religious southern baptist grandma think about the fact that my characters swear or that I write about sex?
What will my friends think? Will they try to read into it and look for themselves? Will they interpret things about my relationship or preferences? What if people hate it? What if they wonder why I wrote something so insipid?
And I know the answer to that is a big, fat WHO CARES?! Who cares what people think about it? Who cares if someone is offended? It’s fiction. It’s art. If I’m proud of it, the rest shouldn’t matter.
I know that logically. I would say that to anyone else who asked me. But facing it myself is a different story and it’s a hurdle I think I have to get over. I am almost 30 and I’m feeling like it’s time that I finish something I start – that I get my words on paper and just power through and see something through from beginning to end. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be.