I made it to 100 today! This is my one hundredth blog post. That calls for celebration, or at least an acknowledgement. One hundred thoughts, musings, stories is like a milestone. How many more are just wandering around in my imagination waiting to settle out on a page?
Writing is a scary preoccupation. You’re letting people into recesses in your head where usually only dust mites and roach droppings linger. You’re giving glimpses into a reality no one knows even exists. They see you and believe they know you but have no idea what’s brewing within your cranium. It’s risky. Without exposure there’s no judgment.
I have a body that requires covering. It sags and pooches where it used to be taunt and tight. It’s pale where it used to be brown. I’d rather keep those sights in the privacy of my own bedroom. I’m not necessarily ashamed, just a bit embarrassed.
Laying down words for all to read is a delight, a service, a challenge. But all the while it’s a gamble that maybe they won’t get it, or if they get it they won’t like it, or if they like it they won’t tell me. It’s like sending a space probe deep into the unknown, just hoping you get the response you sent it out for.
But, even if there is no response, or the response isn’t what you’d like, a writer can’t stop writing any more than a puppy can stop peeing on the floor. You just get so filled with a thought or concept or the excitement of a story and it just has to come out.
So, 100 down and infinity to go. But who’s counting. Thanks for sharing space in my mind. Please wipe your feet next time you come in.