Blame it on the cherry-pomegranate juice, or the brilliant Kansas sun reflecting off of the stainless-steel Chipotle patio table, but somehow my friend Mia convinced me that I need to give this writing thing a go--for real this time.
I'm not really sure what happened to me. Somewhere amidst my hectic life, I lost my courage to write. Not my passion, but my courage. Give me a topic to write about, give me a word count and my audience and I'm golden. Give me a blank page, with no restrictions, no particular audience and my fingers do the "clickity-clack backspace waltz," where my best move is stammering out a few contrived sentences before frantically deleting it all.
What if no one likes it? What if I reveal my true self and I don't even like it? Not many people enjoy standing in front of a full-length mirror naked. And if they do, they're probably either intoxicated, crazy, or haven't put their glasses on yet. (So maybe if I get a little tipsy and leave off the specs, my writing will start to look fabulous.)
Ok, that's enough exhibitionism for now. Better publish this before I chicken out and my right hand hovers toward the upper-right side of the keyboard.
I'm so glad you're doing this, Cat. I've always considered you one of Wichita's better writers. Look forward to seeing what that blank page inspires. Best wishes.
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