Writing used to be one of my favorite hobbies. I was kind of good at it, too. Like, college creative writing class good, but good. I didn’t completely suck.

A friend of mine used to write together even. I remember once we went to a diner to eat breakfast, write, read, eat lunch, and write some more. We told the waitress up front what our plan was and that we were going to tip for the time, nor just thye meal(s). She was intrigued. She checked in on us often and kept our coffee filled. It wasn’t a busy day and we didn’t need to give up the table – which we told her to let us know if we needed to.

Then there was the age of LiveJournal. That was a very active time for me and the keyboard. I posted a lot on there, some of it a tad too personal. That may have also been the start of my being turned off to writing. The guy I was dating at the time was abusive and started his own LiveJournal, mostly to attack me and make me feel lesser. I shared stuff about me; he shared stuff about us and me and never in a good light.

After that was over, I tried to “DO” something with it – blogging, food writing, what have you. It never went anywhere, and it all sucked. It most likely never went anywhere because it all sucked. I then started to believe that I sucked. That I had nothing to say. That no one cared about what little I did have to say.

It’s very likely that that last bit is true. Maybe the first bit is true also. But that middle bit is very not true. I do have something to say. I have a lot to say. I have too much to say. No time like now to start saying it I guess.

It took me two weeks to even start writing this piece. A lot of avoidance and fear preceded sitting down and typing. It feels KINDA good to be typing this, but there is still mostly fear and insecurity. I’m surprised I’m not used to those feelings by now – but is anyone ever?

So, I used to like writing. Now I’m afraid of it. Time to start the practice, work past the fear, and get my words out there in some form. Even if I’m the only one who cares.