This story may beg the question: is this writer crazy?
Okay. I exaggerate. I’m a writer. It’s what I do.
But be that as it may.
It isn’t as if I don’t know what I’m writing when I write. I do. Sort of. Nonetheless, I get to the end and find myself thinking, “Really? Did I write what I think I did?” This is followed by, “Quit overreacting. Lots of people write way weirder stuff.”
So. Am I pretentious or foolish or arrogant to think I’ve written something different and weird–because everyone has “weird” thoughts; it is just that not everyone puts those thoughts on a page anyone can read. Or am I naive or self-delusional to think I’ve written something ordinary and that no one will have an opinion on what I do either way? Which leads to–why write something ordinary? Which leads to–this entire inner-dialog borders on the hysteric. Maybe inside I’m still 13.
Anyway, I’m still on track for blogging every day with the theme of maybe. And I’ve written a story every day for the month of May. The stories may not work, but at least I’ve done what I said I’d do.
Now, do you have conversations with yourself like this? Or do you never worry that you’ve written something others will judge you by?
