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Writing Like Nobody’s Reading

Writing Like Nobody's Reading

I’ve been debating this decision for months now. To NaNoWriMo or nah. For those who have no idea what I’m talking about, NaNoWriMo is where writers around the world commit to writing 50k words for their novel/book/series/etc in the month of November. If you’ve read anything I’ve written in the past couple months, you know I’ve been in a space when it comes to my writing and creativity and I’ve finally decided that NaNoWriMo is something I need to do. And I’m excited. In preparation for the month ahead, I felt the need to empty my current thoughts and fears on writing, being a writer, and why I must keep. going.

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Deep down, I’m nervous that I might not be able to do it. That I have so many words inside me to say but I’ll never be able to straighten them up, pull them together, and make them presentable for consumption. That, as hard as I try to sort through the mazes of my mind, the chambers of my heart, and the depths of my soul, I’ll find too much and not enough at the same time.

I’m nervous that it isn’t pretty. That the edges aren’t clean and neat. And the corners are filled with too much. That I’ll never be the “carefree black girl” aesthetic and there is no filter to blur the mess. That, as hard as I try to make it look nice, it’s wild and it’s rough. And because of it, the message won’t be received.

I’m nervous that it isn’t profound. That it’s all been said and done before. That these grand epiphanies aren’t so grand after all. That as deep as I feel it’s still all very surface level, cliche even, and the only thing different about my thoughts…is the vessel in which they come through. Me.

I’m nervous that it doesn’t make sense. That I’m not eloquent or poetic enough to deliver the thoughts stirring in my body. That my creativity doesn’t expand past stringing together a few well placed sentences for a blog post or a tweet. That a cohesive piece of work, or presence, or dare I say it brand {shudders} is beyond my reach.

I’m nervous that I’ll never find my place. That there’s no space for the girl who is bold, love, and light and quiet, anxious, and dark depending on the day…or the hour. The one’s whose words aren’t accompanied by a soft voice and a warm smile. That my hard outer shell and resting bitch face aren’t just my body but who I am. A cancerian to my core.

I’m nervous that as hard as I try to remember for who and why I do this, I won’t be able to overcome the feelings of doubt. That I won’t understand the difference between their validity (allowing myself to feel) and their truth (convincing myself they aren’t facts).

Because the truth of the matter is, I just want to be heard. And accepted and recognized. Transparency. But it is these desires that live in the same place as my fears so in order to be fearless…I must release them both.

“They say” dance like nobody’s watching, but I’ve never been a dancer. So instead, I’ll write like nobody’s reading. In November…and beyond.

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