The Weirdness of Me

What do you do?

The first thing I want to say is, “I’m a writer.”  What I actually say is, “I’m a software engineer.”

I have the credentials and experience for the latter.  I have nothing to show for the former, other than a pressing need to write.

“Love your story and burn to tell it.”  That’s my chosen motto.  One that I’ve utterly failed to follow.

Curse the inner critic, constantly in the way, sneering.  “Your stories are either too weird or too stupid.  You’re incompetent.  You should have started doing this when you were young.”  I offer no contradictions, no rhetoric.  And yet…

The other part of me screams to unlock my caged words.   Let them run loose.  Someone out there might understand.  A few might actually enjoy them.

“But how can you be a writer?  Writers have confidence in their stories.  Writers have confidence period.  You don’t belong in that crowd.”

It’s a common problem.  Stephen King said writers are, by their nature, a bit insecure.  Perhaps we are.  Or, perhaps, it’s the terrifying vulnerability of exposing your creations.

Which I’m about to do.

These stories are raw and untested.  This is an experiment.  I don’t have much of a plan.  One story might be complete once I post it; another may evolve over time.

Time to find out what happens next.


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