Okay, so a few days ago, I started blog entry number two. We left for a few days for the hubby to go deer hunting with my dad, and now we’re back. The house is just awful, but I didn’t’ t come here to tell you that. Blog entry #2 was about my first experience with racism. It happened in Kindergarten, on the first day of school. I grew up in a very small town, and in the entire school (grades K-12) there was one black kid. Actually he was biracial, but I didn’t know that word back then
Anyway, I started writing #2, and about half way in, my Internal Editor kicked in and the words just shut down. I began revising it in my head, but I kept finding excuses not to go to the keyboard. Now, granted, we had to pack, my back went out, and all sorts of other minor catastrophes happened, giving me ample excuses. But that’s the thing about me. I always have excuses… Anything that gets me out of doing something that’s uncomfortable.
Even in my fiction, where no one would ever recognize an event or character as me, or something that’s happened to me, I get to a point and can’t go on. Even sitting here writing this, my instinct is to run away. I’ve spent the past three hours reading blogs online instead of tackling the kindergarten story.
Is it that big of a deal? Probably not. But it means work. It means telling a story that hurts me. It means baring my soul just a little, exposing parts of myself I’m not proud of. And I’m scared. It’s dumb, I know, no one’s even read this thing yet. Possibly no one will, even if I do publish it on the ‘net. That’s not the point. Nope, it’s just me fighting against my own demons of self-doubt.
There it is again. My brain started editing and my instinct is to save this as a draft and come back to it later. So I’m publishing it right now, [without editing, so forgive any typos] and winning a small battle for once.