Maybe I post too many links to my writing, maybe you don’t think I’m that great a writer or maybe my stuff just doesn’t appeal to you. That’s fine. But.
I see your posts. Pictures of your kids, your pets, your food, your grainy video from concerts you attend, shout-outs to your favorite sports team on a game well-played, your vacation check-ins and all the things you maybe post a little too often. Even if it’s not that great a photo or if your kids, your pets, your food don’t necessarily warrant minutes of my time.
I know that it is something you love or you are proud of and took moments out of your day to share it with us, your little online community. And as a friend/member of your tribe, I acknowledge that in you. I celebrate what makes you happy.
When I share a story or a poem or an essay that I have written, I do so because I am opening up a part of me that I want you to be a part of.
And, honestly, sometimes that is the hardest part of the writing. Letting you into my mind, opening up my chest and handing you my heart, being completely vulnerable. To your judgement, your scrutiny, to your indifference.
I have emptied myself onto the page in a way that I may never truly do aloud. No matter how drunk or depressed or lonely I may get.
This is not just a hobby. This is not just something I do on the side. Sure, I may tell you that because it is humbling to not be taken seriously. But. This is me.
Writers toil (struggle, grapple, pore) endlessly over word choice. We draft and scrap and edit and rewrite and cut again. Steal moments to jot down notes lest we instantly forget. We lose sleep just to find the time to write.
This is our passion. This is our lifeblood. Our sweat. Our tears. Our therapy.
Please don’t dismiss it. Don’t roll your eyes or shake your head. We don’t ask much.
Next time you see something I have written. Pause before scrolling. Please. Take those few minutes I modestly ask of you.
Maybe you will learn something. Maybe you will learn something about me. Maybe you will learn something about yourself.
Or maybe it might make you happy to know that such a small acknowledgment by you, just a moment of your time, an ever so slight recognition of my hard work could mean so much to me.
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My belly still smells of the warm jelly from the ultrasound this morning.