One Fatal Stroke

 

You want answers? I’ll give you answers.

I’m scared.

There. Happy now?  It’s out there. For all to see. Vulnerability at its finest. Yet another writing hiatus has come full circle.

I’m a changed person. Everyone who knows me, knows it. I’ve said it before, but I’m saying it again. Events in my life have taken me in a direction both emotionally and physically that I never would’ve expected and never even imagined. Some people may read this and say to themselves, “we’ve heard this story before.”  Some might say, “No shit. It’s obvious.”  Others may not like the “new” me where as others embrace it.

Here’s what I say. I don’t care…and that’s why I’m scared.

It’s scary when you realize to be a successful writer you have to be honest. Honesty can be frightening. Honesty can be daunting. Honesty can be hurtful.

In many cases the pen truly is mightier than the sword. With just a few lines of ink you risk both personal injury and, potentially even worse, the injury of another. Your own psyche, a friend, a loved one, or a complete stranger, they’re all in the line of fire. All it takes is one fatal stroke of the pen.

This all sounds potentially harsh. Even threatening. It shouldn’t be. That’s not the point. The point is that any writer that writes with boundaries isn’t a writer at all. To write successfully you have to be willing to open yourself up to the masses. You have to be willing to undress yourself one paragraph at a time while the critics have their say. Good or bad.

It’s not personal. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion…just like everyone’s entitled to mine.

And that’s scary.