Scared to Write; too Afraid to Quit

Aloha,
I started my blog many moon ago (last month) and a good blog buddy (bluddy?) said I should share personal experiences. ‘cos like in that baseball movie, maybe if I blog it, they will comment.

But… I told my bluddy friend… I’m just a stay-at-home dad of 2.5 boys (the newest boy launch is scheduled for early January 2012), so what do I know about the price of bread?

“Brah, it’s not how you know; it’s how you know-how.”

With that confusing piece of clarity cleared up (???) … I now (know?) dedicate this post to any and all “underground writers” who stumble on this blog.

I call you “underground writers” not because you’re off the beaten track (and if you are, good for you) but because writing is your passion and you’re too scared to write.

Been there, done that, brah.

Reading the above paragraphs, all I sense from myself is someone who enjoys writing (I’m not stroking my ego… I didn’t say it was "good" writing!)

What I mean is I had a giggle and a laugh creating the imaginary conversation between my blog brah (brother.)

These days, it’s easy for me to enjoy my writing (still doesn’t mean it’s bluddy good, or anything) but, oh how I wish my head was screwed on like Tahereh Mafi who's only twenty-three and about to publish her first book - among other awesome things.

WOW!  To be in my early twenties and know I wanted to be a writer… how awesome would that be, brah?

What?

I did know I wanted to be a writer… in my teens….? But, if so, why didn’t I do anything about it? Simple answer:  I was too damn scared.

(CliffNotes version of my yearly academic test scores: A+ in creating a posse and F in creating prose.)

Nowadays, I look back – and oh, how I love hindsight! If only someone (R.I.P. Steve Jobs) could invent a remote control to pause, fast-forward or rewind our teenage years, I’d be the happiest camper. There would be no need to assuage my formerly fifteen-year-old self:

“Look, dumbass, you can’t knock on the door, run away and leave a note saying there’s a bomb underneath the homeless man’s herringbone jacket and expect no recriminations …” (true story…)

Ok, I've always had a creative streak, but I didn’t know what to do with it until I hit my thirties. While some might say that sucks, you know what, brah. I prefer “s’all good. At least I’m now writing.”

Now I’m afraid to stop writing, which is so damn exciting!  I love me my blog. It’s not that my musing will ever generate enough interest from those not directly related to me (I know all three of you) but it’s the fun in trying to figure out a.) what could be a good topic and b.) how do I write “it?”

I’m delighted for Tahereh, and I wish her only the best success – if you haven’t checked out her blog, it’s awesome. Me, I’m happy knowing my boys will never need to lean over the semi-private hospital bed and ask their old man if he has any lasting regrets before he kicks the big bucket in the sky.

“No regrets, lads,” I will say, before kissing each of my future strapping lads on the mouth. “No regrets, I did it the write way.”

My point is: If you’re a writer, the gift will bubble up like a warm spring no matter what you do. I pray that the warm caress of your talent will wash over you – sooner than later.

God speed! Now, shoo, go write the world.

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I value your time and appreciate the few minutes we spend together. Mahalo and regards,

Mark

“Aloha to learn what is not said, to see what cannot be seen and to know the unknowable.”
– Queen Lili‘uokalani, (1838–1917), the last reigning monarch of the Hawaiian Islands.