What was I thinking? A professional writer? I’m a hack. A loser wannabe like those Elvis impersonators. I envy artists. People whose need to express themselves pushes at their seams. I’m passive. I read and I watch and I observe and I analyze, but I’m not a creator. I’m not the one to stand up and call attention to myself.
“Express Yourself” is one of my favorite Madonna songs. Isn’t that ironic? It takes bravery to speak your mind…or even to just show the world something fictional that you’ve created. But I am a coward. I am afraid of the overwhelming criticism. I am weak and soft and I like to play-pretend that I’m original and special and smart and funny and oh-so-weird…but I’m just a fucking cliché. At least I could try to be happy with my mediocrity. I feel like Solieri in the movie Amadeus. Why oh why am I cursed with this desire to write…this love of literature…if I can’t participate?
#firstworldproblems Peace Out. SWAG. Insert every other common, ignorant, mindless saying You can think of here.
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Robin's Nest 
Being an artist doesn’t mean standing up and calling attention to yourself, but allow your expressions to come out in whatever creative way makes sense for you.
Creating and keeping it your own doesn’t mean you’re not brave – maybe that’s just what you’re ready to do right now. Doesn’t mean it will always feel that way.
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I call Bullshit with a capital B… this very blogpost is an excellent example of some excellent writing… Blogs is writing too
😊
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