“I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still”
She nervously smooths down her rusty denim skirt as she sits down carefully, slowly, on the huge leather couch. She’d never been to one of these things before, and despite her friends’ advice and her family’s warnings, she had no idea what to expect. The doctor sits calmly on the chair opposite, patiently holding the clipboard, waiting to begin. He was obviously used to nervous first-timers. He looks her intently in the eye, as if willing himself to draw out the emotions she was so fond of hiding.
“So, Mrs X. Tell me something unrehearsed… How are you?”
Its been a while since I’ve written, and for that, I am sorry. Been asking myself whether any of this is truly worth it. I’ve been speaking and writing for as long as I can remember, but one thing I don’t remember, is anyone paying attention. You ask for something unrehearsed?
My stomach quivers whenever I press ‘publish’
My fingers tremble whenever I press ‘Tweet’
I look over everything I write to the public a million times, to make sure my thoughts are “correct”
I go back over my work at least 5 times after every compliment or criticism.
I recently read a blog post by a new favourite blogger of mine, Miss Tobi, entitled I fear writing. Strange post from a woman who is such a brilliant writer, but I understood. A good writer pours a little of their soul into every text they compose, and I am no different. They say a blog is just like a diary, but I wholly disagree. A diary doesn’t judge you for spelling or grammar mistakes. A diary doesn’t compare you to other diaries and find your flaws. A diary doesn’t use likes/views/comments to judge how good a writer you are. A diary just listens; a blank canvas providing the perfect shoulder to cry on and impartial ear that will lock away your secrets for as long as need be. It is hard to share your work with the world, as every artist knows, and ever since starting this blog, I’ve asked myself constantly why I decided to do it.
Something unrehearsed? I have dug myself into a pit of frustration trying to be someone I’m not, for the sake of promotion. I’ve always been a fan of the underdog, the Clark Kents rather than the Supermans; the Peter Parkers; the Bruce Waynes. I am not a big promoter of myself, rather others. I have always spoken only to those who care to listen and held my tongue to everyone but those who were prepared for my words, which were not always what you’d love to hear. Promotion, as crucial as it is, is hard for me. Saying to people ‘”Look at me, look at me! I promise I’m good!” For someone who perpetually shies away from the limelight, this will never be easy.
I’ve changed my writing style a few times, adjusted my language and altered my voice in a bid to get more people to listen. But if you’re showing people who you are, why change in order to get them to see? I am the biggest advocate for the message ‘Be yourself’; ‘Be unapologetically you’, ‘Live out Loud’ because nothing is sexier or more empowering than someone who isn’t afraid to be themselves. Whatever that is.
But it seems I need to take a leaf out of my own book and stop pretending. Sorry to disappoint guys, but I’ve never been the life and soul of the party. If this was a high school in America, you wouldn’t catch me anywhere near the cheerleaders table. I’m not fashionable, rich or particularly adventurous. Wit, quick-thinking and seduction are not tools I was equipped with and you won’t find make-up or hair tutorials anywhere near my YouTube page. I do, however, love words. And would like to believe what I lack in…everything, I make up for in wisdom. And hard truths. And tough love. And sweet prose.
Something unrehearsed? I may not be what you want, but I’m exactly what you need.
How’s that for promotion?