As we create these words of discovery,
so too do we often devise our own defeat.
Anonymity is seen as a merciful retreat in most respects. As a writer, which is the first time I have called myself such, I uphold this vague presence as a way of protecting my work from any preconceptions readers may hold. There is no bias or scrutiny that is not solely based upon what I have to offer in what I publish.
As I have implied previously, I maintain this pursuit seperately to my actual occupation. I feel it grants me space to explore as I must without fearing the opinions of those who are not faceless and are acquainted with my physical self. And that is my first insecurity. Those who know of my writings are a rare species indeed and I doubt they understand the immense trust I am placing in them to review this piece or that, or the gut wrenching vulnerability that consumes me.
I am trapped by the fear that someone will stand over me, eyes watching my efforts, and declare "they are just words, nothing special, stop pretending you can write". So I remain caught up in leading this double life, though it suits me and what I seek. It is my work-life-write balance.
Yet sometimes the darkness becomes too much in the shadows and I have no one to consult, no one to remind me that there is something worthwhile in the words I craft. I find my projects lose their direction, they feel bland, and everything blurs until it seems I just write the same sentence every time...
So how do I continue?