One of my favorite writing quotes is by Ernest Hemingway, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
Today it’s on a computer, but the idea is still the same. Bleed. Bleed all over that page. Write down that story that has been dancing in your brain, that world that you’ve developed, those characters who are a part of your soul. Put them on the page, make them come alive.
But then what?
Then you take those words, that story, those characters, and place them in the hands of a judge for a contest, or send them out to an agent, or even worse publish them and wait for the reviews. You take that bit of yourself, that very personal part of you, and you show the world.
And hope the world accepts you.
You wait, questions and insecurities rattling around in your mind. Will they love it? Hate it? Laugh at it? Have I wasted my time? Those questions eat at you until it whittles away at your heart and drives you mad.
This is what writers go through, how they think. They put their heart on the page, their soul into the words, and then they let the world see it all. They expose themselves, stripping away the armor that protects them, barring it all.
Because they love the art of writing. It’s not a job, it’s an obsession. An itch that needs to be scratched. A hole that needs to be filled. But most importantly a story that needs to be told. They share a part of themselves with the world, a spark of their imagination.
So, next time you’re reading a book, something that grabs you and won’t let go, a story that you are so immersed in that you forget to cook dinner, or to pick up the kids from school, or let the dog in, remember that behind that story is a writer. A writer who shared a part of their inner self with the readers. And thank that writer for not giving up, not letting their insecurities get the better of them, for putting words to the page every single day to bring the story to the world, to write that story for you.
Because that writer, even though they may have been scared or afraid or insecure, in the end was brave.