Nature of the Beast

I'm a writer. This is what I do. This is what I've done ever since I was a fifth grader and wrote a story about Annie the Angel in Mrs. Bryan's fifth grade classroom. This is what I majored in during college. And this is what I do with most of my spare time.

I love to write because it's the only time that I feel completely uninhibited. Some of the missing inhibition has to stay under wraps because it would not be appropriate to share outside the confines of my computer screen or journal page...but to at least get it out of the confines of my brain is freeing. I love to write because it's something I'm passionate about that most of my close friends aren't, so it gives me a chance to have something unique to contribute to life and relationships. I love to write because it's how I communicate. It's how my thoughts flow best and the only way I can speak without stumbling when I am sharing the raw place of my heart.

But lately, writing has been tough. I haven't liked it. I haven't done it in excess. Here, or in my journal, or on my computer at home. Because...I'm scared of it.

I wrote an e-mail a couple of weeks ago and received a response that attacked my ability to communicate. My reader completely misinterpreted my intended tone, but in the response, my confidence in my communication skill suffered a wound that has yet to heal.

Hysterical, I was told, best described me in the moments following the receipt of that e-mail response. I cried until I had chest pains. I couldn't breathe, and I lost all my water-proof mascara. And now I'm scared to write anything at all. Scared to use exclamation points because I might use them inappropriately. Scared to try to sound positive because it might be interpreted as sarcasm.

I'm just scared.

Such is the life of a writer, though. Writers get rejection letters. I kept my first one to remind me that not everything I write is publication-worthy. Writers get hostile responses to subjects they'd written about very passionately. My first blog comment was a blast about how horrible I am to declaw my cat. I kept it to remind me that there are those who don't agree with my opinions. And sometimes writers are misinterpreted. I still have that email in my inbox where I can see it every day. Someday I'll take it out because at that point, it will only serve to hurt me and I don't want to hurt forever. But for now it reminds me to choose my words - and my punctuation marks - carefully. And it reminds me to remember that a misinterpretation on the part of my reader doesn't necessarily mean a cruel intention on the part of the writer.

Now that I've made my admission, I'll work on posting something besides my opinion of American Idol and my normal Sunday post...