Writing is my one true north. (The other is eating spaghetti. I make the best pastas in the whole world I swear!)
I have been writing since age 10. I remember being in another school a lot because of Campus Journalism contests. I was a grade-school copyreader, headline-writer, and feature writer, who emerged to be a college editorial writer and eventually a TV news writer.
However, I have always been an insecure artist. These constant condescending thoughts always stopped me from creating:
“No one would read this.”
“This has been written before and therefore no one would read this.”
“This is not interesting enough and therefore no one would read this.”
“This is not relevant, or factual, or trendy enough and therefore no one would read this.”
But I learned to risk to write even if no one reads it, than not to have written anything at all. To resist writing is to resist truth itself, to betray that which comes freely to you when you do not allow it to be manifested through you.
I didn’t think writing was serious work. But every time I thought about writing, it would make me nervous. It would rattle me and frighten me. I would shake the ground under me.
Aren’t dreams like that too?
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