Compulsions

Thoughts I've encountered recently:

• All writers read, but not all readers write.
• Writers write because there isn't anything else to do.
• Sign me up for that book, Mom.
  

And when I say "encountered" I mean - they stopped me in my tracks and wrestled me to the ground. I say that I am a writer. My job title includes the word. I have been compelled more than once by internal an external forces to put fingers to keyboard or pen to paper and write.

I get hung up on form sometimes. That has been my excuse lately. "I can't write a novel"
But there are thoughts in my head that need expressing. Maybe they will be letters. Maybe they will be essays. I hope some of them turn into the story about an imaginary elephant that my son has signed up for on his Christmas wish list.

What stops me? I say the demands of my job stop me. I say the need to parent my children stops me. I pick up books to read other voices and quiet the narrative in my own brain for awhile. But it comes down to this.... the raw honesty that I know is required to tell the stories in my heart and head scares the living daylights out of me. It would be compelling reading - I know I am good at funny, and poignant, and absurd.... but I don't feel brave enough yet to bring those things to light. I make excuses to not write - but what I really mean is - I'm afraid.

To say even that makes me think I am a wimp. But I have read powerful writers who tell the whole truth. To be so exposed, so open to interpretation, interrogation, and analysis is terrifying.

But it's just words. Words.... not me. Yes. And no. My words. My thoughts. My experience and choices.

Whew. In some ways, this blog is a test of myself, to see what I am capable of sharing, and what fear I can overcome. I am compelled to write, but I am not always brave enough to do so.