It’s funny. I’ve had this account for a couple of months now and I haven’t written a single word. I keep reading other stories; other moments, wishfully gaping at the wide ranged prompts and flair that other people come up with. I read someone else’s words and subconsciously go through the same routine every time—-no way of avoiding it. I wonder. Then I think to myself; why should I write if I can’t be as good as any of them? Why am I scared to type these words that sink so deeply through my skin and onto the interface of technology? I then open up a tab to sketch and think of the close-to perfect words I could write; even though Hi, like an encouraging friend, appears on the side of the screen and tells me that Sketches don’t need to be perfect. Well, thanks Hi, but of course, like a rebel, I ignore the encouragement anyways.
Then something clicked in my mind. For some reason, I remembered watching the Dead Poets Society in the spring semester of sophomore year when half of the class had fallen asleep and I was madly glaring at the projected screen because I thought the film was utterly astounding (still think it is). But there was a quote that John Keating, the professor, said which never really shook out of my mind;
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race and the human race is filled with passion.”
And quite true he is. I realized that I shouldn’t be afraid. Sure, I’ll write things that later on in life I’ll look back at and want to throw away in the trash, but for now, this is the best that I could do. This is the only way to jump free and to let go of my fears of not being good enough. Sometimes you just gotta look past the fact that you’re not the best and do what makes you happy even if your words are sinfully second-rate. So here I am, writing my first story and feeling okay about it.
death becomes routine
Who wore it better?
To fall asleep
the goodbye blues
The Kindness of Strangers.