I’m a writer with a completion problem. I dream and envision witty, provocative words I want to write and then I am assaulted with a wave of anxiety over actually writing. My mother told me at a young age when I was fond of writing boys disturbing love letters to “never put anything in writing”. She has a point, but like most of her well-meant advice, I ignored it and went on to send dark and tortured love letters to each and every boy with whom I shared saliva. Boys, may I have those letters back to see if they were any good? Just drop the restraining order, really, I have changed.
That’s the beauty of writing: what you absolutely cannot say about your in-laws in person, you may get away with it in a blog. Or maybe not, we’ll see.
Is life a series of verbal social censorship? How dare I talk about how boring most people are when I am talking to those boring people. It’s such a social conundrum and this is my cure.