by Amy Holloway
This is a whole new ballgame for me.
So where do I begin in telling you how afraid I am? How do I even describe the anxiety I get with the thought of sharing my stories? I can tell you that butterflies doesn't cover it. Butterflies are supposed to be pretty and hopeful. I think what's inside my body are worms, moths, and toads, that come out at night to prevent me from sleeping. In the daytime, they invade my mind. People will laugh at me. People will read my stories, and wonder if I even graduated high school. I'm from a small little bitty town in GA. What business do I have trying to be a writer? I didn't go to college, because I have anxiety. I took online courses in writing. Seriously, what am I thinking?|
The very thought of my grammar being wrong makes my stomach turn. The very thought of me forgetting where I was going with the story in the first place, makes my head ache. Who do I look up to, besides Stephen King, with whom I worship? WWSKD? Well after reading his book, On Writing, he would tell me to just write. Less is more. Well, I do have less to offer. That, I know for certain. Yes, I need to work on my self-esteem issues. Yes, I need to work on my confidence. I know this. Baby steps right? Well I'm moving at least. I just don't know where I'm going.
So, in the meantime, I will still have to get up at 5 a.m. to go to my job that I've outgrown. A girl still has to eat. I would like to have some electricity to cook it with, and a home to eat it in too. In the meantime, I will try to keep trying. I will find some kind of motivation. I will find the meaning, as soon as I find the right words to look up.
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