I Am A Coward

I was going to write something different here, something banal and not very interesting, even to me, just to keep up the illusion of blogging consistently. I was going to talk about how angry I get while driving, knowing we all have those moments. It might have been funny, but the real reason I was writing here instead of writing creatively was because I was being a coward.

Now, I can be pretty confident. When I was growing up, guys that might have liked me were afraid of me because it seemed like I didn't need anyone. I can be pretty intimidating if you don't know me or if you already don't like me. I have been mistaken as a bodyguard when I went out with my female friends. Well, I'm pretty sure it wasn't a mistake since I tend to get overprotective when I think some idiot is bothering my friends. But that's another post. The signs of other's people fear of me has usually come out in anger, but in the end, once people who are willing to give me a change get to know the real me, I am not THAT intimidating. Often.

I'm not afraid of much. I'm afraid of my husband dying. I'm afraid of dying in horrible pain. I'm afraid of mushrooms and spiders. Yesterday, I discovered, I'm afraid of the empty page. I took out my notebook to write, to jot down a few lines for a short story that's been rolling around in my mind. I stared at that blank page for nearly ten minutes, my mind wandering all over creation. Even now, as I'm writing and remembering, knowing I need to keep writing this and then start on my spec script, I want to pick up the sock I'm knitting, my second sock so I can finally have one pair of socks I knit for myself.

As my mind wandered last night, I played solitaire on my phone, I checked my email twice, I added new buttons to my home screen, I moved things around... I didn't open my computer because of the distractions, but then I let my phone take the place of the computer.

I know that some people have encouraged me to just write whenever I feel led to creatively and not beat myself up because I don't feel that way everyday. Some people have told me that I am talented, that my writing is growing, but it's not growing for myself. It is growing for others. I know that means that I am growing, but I'm growing in a new type of writing for me that I never expected to and I want to grow in my chosen field. I enjoy the writing I do. I love it. I love coming up with new ways to bring notice to my words, even if that comes with the unwanted knowledge of who I am. But in this town, that's important. If people know that I'm "my byline" then they will read and tell people they know "my byline" and my name would spread and so would my readership.

But more than that, I want to actually get my scripts written. I want to get these short stories out of my head. I want to be as creative as I once was, where I could sit down, at any time, and write. Maybe it would be bad, but it would come out and go down and it would be more than a sentence here and a sentence there.

Ah well, this coward is feeling sorry for herself. Carry on.