My Dirty Little Secret

Sometimes writing feels like a secret. One I keep to save myself from rejection or criticism. Today, I write for myself…but don’t we all? We all write for ourselves until someone sees the value and pays us for it, then, and only then do we finally know we were writing for the masses.

It seems there are two types of writers. Those who share it all or those who share none. Which are you?

I work in an office during the day and don’t want to risk it. Not until I have a contract. Not that my job would fire me for having a hobby- no its because they might look at me as if i have grown a second head.

Then again I should be saying, “look i took a risk to follow my dream. What have you done.”

The questions that would be asked would make me doubt myself even more…or would they? The few who know my guilty pleasure of writing don’t judge, in fact they want to be apart of it. So why hide you ask? It comes down to my fear of failure. Take the safe road. Only admit to things you can control the outcome. Maybe I need to take a bigger risk outside the writing community but i don’t see why. Does anyone feel like admitting your secret to the world has helped them or hurt them?

I would say that this applies to fictional writing and possibly memoirs. I don’t see an expert writing in their field having the same issue…but maybe I am wrong.

The reality is we grow by criticism not by those that love everything we do, but it doesn’t hurt any less. When did you tell people you were trying to write fiction as a career, moving beyond the hobby?


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