As a very young child, I felt more at ease with my talents. I would show off my stories and drawings to anyone who took the time to give them a glance. Most people admired these labors of love and I would always respond with a cocky, "I know. They are awesome, aren't they?"
Somewhere between junior high and obtaining a Masters I became less and less excited about sharing the products of my imagination, particularly with people I knew and trusted. Their words held such meaning that I knew I'd shatter if they said anything negative about what I'd created.
This mentality - that I could not share my words or art because of fear - proved toxic. At my core, I am a creator, so it became imperative to abandon the belief that someone's words would force me to stop being imaginative or creative.
I'm writing a novel. Did you know that, reader? I won't go into the details here; in fact, the most important piece of this information is not that I'm writing a novel, but that I shared it with three trusted friends.
And my world didn't end.
There were some positive words, encouraging words, and - of course - lots of questions, need for clarification.
I have to remind myself that this is my first draft and that it is bound to be awful. There will be parts that don't quite fit, that need a bit more embellishment, that require polishing. I have to remind myself that my friends are not giving me these suggestions because they are being cruel, but because they find the story and characters as interesting as I do.
Because it matters to me, they want to see it succeed.
Blessed be.
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