Waiting for people to read my work is kind of like waiting for them to read my diary. As a writer, when you think about people reading your stuff, it’s like this strange double edged sword. You WANT people to read your stuff. You WANT to be popular. But you fear it too. You fear it like you fear waking up in the middle of the night and putting your foot down on the ground and thinking that something will reach out from under your bed and claw at your ankle before you can get to the light switch.

Or maybe that’s just me. I know something lives under the bed. And I’m scared of it. The same way I’m scared to let people read my stuff.

I’m DYING for them to read it! to LOVE IT! and I will be that CREEPY AUTHOR standing over them acting like Leonard from the Big Bang Theory.

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But at the same time, it’s scary. Because… my writing is how I see the world. It’s how I think and how I feel. It’s how I see things happen and then interpret and understand those things. Putting it all out there is like this feeling of release and relief but also fear and anxiety. Kind of like taking your bra off at the end of the day, but having to do it in front of an open window.




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