I went to look back at my Medium stats today, and I decided to check the Publication date on my last story. It was January 23, 2017.
I’m a little confused about why it’s taken me so long to apply my fingers to my computer keys. After all, I love Medium- I love the voices I’ve found here, and how so many of them feel like they sit on my wavelength. I love the responses I’ve found here to my voice, and the feeling that my weirdness has a space in which to exist and be perceived as normal. And it’s not like I’m bereft of ideas- my unpublished stories page has thirteen drafts.
So where is it that I falter? Where is it that the light burns out, and I’ve left my story alone and shivering with no shoes on?
Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m not even sure what the purpose of this little think-piece is, except to prove to myself that I can still throw something out into the ether that’s worth reading. Maybe it’s just post-concussion syndrome that’s making me ramble, but I do know three things:
- There’s nothing like two car accidents in one day to make you take a look around and say “I could really use some Yoga. And ice cream. And honesty.”
- My writing is worth reading.
- Kittens are soft, and often the best remedy for a car accident-provided you don’t need surgery, and then surgery is the best remedy.
I’ll go before this starts reading a little too much like a Samuel Becket monologue, but this is for everyone who has doubts about whether or not their words are worth the paper they’re written on. The short answer is: