This would be Lani cooling off in the mud.
25 May 2008

I love to write.  I love to surprise people with a clever twist of words or an insightful, wry truth.  I love to strip a situation or a personality down to its basic elements through poetic or dry narrative.

It makes me happy.  It makes me feel connected.  It makes me feel unique and gives me a sense of purpose on this planet of six billion people.

But it’s terrifying.

When I put my stories out onto the internet for anyone to see, I feel naked and vulnerable.  I freeze — literally freeze — like a deer caught in the headlights.  There were no posts to the blog for two weeks because I couldn’t write.  I put up RomancePodcast.com, my personal showcase for my stories, and I completely froze up.  I couldn’t even write a blog entry.  All the joy disappeared into the blinding fear of vulnerability.

I love to write, but writing — or any creative endeavor that comes from the soul — requires you to let others see into your soul.  I’ve spent my whole life guarding myself, protecting myself from harm, as we all do.  But if I want to write something that is true and meaningful, I have to let others see the naked me… and to not only see the naked me, but to scoff at the naked me.

And that’s terrifying.  To willingly step out naked in public — that’s no easy accomplishment and one that I have not yet managed.