I’m afraid to write. If at any time anyone is reading this, it will be a miracle. My writing is not worthy of anyone’s time. My talent is not up to anyone’s standard. My writing will not enlighten, engage, nor entertain anyone. Thankfully, I’m not writing for anyone. I’m writing for me. By writing for me, I get to choose what I want to say. I can unfold the layers of my thoughts and my feelings. I get to put into words a story that allows me to enlighten my spirit, engage my mind, and entertain my soul.
If I wrote for anyone, there would be rules to follow. I would have to consider the thoughts and feelings of too many people to count. The list would be so long. Don’t say this….don’t imply that….and whatever you do, don’t suggest any of it as opinion because it will only be seen as fact! I never did like following the rules.
I will write for me. I will share what I write with everyone. What I hope is that out of everyone who reads it, someone will take something from it and be enlightened, engaged or entertained. My wish is that everyone will respect my writing for what it is; my writing. They can take it or leave it, but it will always be mine. When the writers of the world share the gift they have, the intention is to move someone in everyone they reach. Not just anyone, because there are too many of those to please. But just that one someone who needs it at that moment.
That one someone is out there in everyone, at some time. I hope that when that someone reads what I wrote, they are moved in a way I could never achieve speaking to them face to face. Just as an artist can create a painting that someone looks at in awe. Or how a singer sings a ballad that can move someone to tears, I hope for that moment with someone, too.
But until then, I write for me. Anyone can read what I write, but only someone who reads it matters.