brave words

It's been said that writing is easy.  "You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed (Red Smith)."

Open your veins.

And bleed.

Oh yes.

Sometimes I sit in front of the computer and try to transcribe the words in my head.  Essays about the Church, feminism, parenting and all sorts of other things.  But the words don't come.  There is a language barrier between my brain and my fingers.  Can't. Get. The. Words. Out.

Is it fear?  Fear because I know people who won't agree and I don't want to hurt them?  Fear because I know I'm not skilled enough to express it perfectly?  Fear because I have so much learning left to do?

I've heard people say that all bloggers are narcissists.  That no one else would write a publish a record of their lives.  Perhaps they're right.  But at the same time, I think people get something confused.

I don't write because I want to be a writer.

I write because I AM a writer.

I don't say that in a pride or in grandiose dreams of being published.  That's not at all what I mean.  I mean that I have always written: journals, lists, blogs, papers.  It's how I think and how I process.  Calling myself a writer doesn't even mean that I think I'm skilled at writing.  It's just who I am.  I write.  As one of my dear girls in college would say, "I like words."

It is a fearful thing to hit 'publish'.  It is hard to find time to transpose my thoughts and to rework them to make sense on paper.

But I'm trying to do better - I write even though people might not like it.  I write even though I don't know it all or I'm still figuring things out.

If you blog (or journal), I'm challenging you today:  Use brave words.  Write something bold.  And click 'publish'.