It all starts with a single letter, one out of twenty-six hopefuls aspiring to be that first one chosen, the one that brings about a succession of words, paragraphs, chapters, stories. Language flows like a river from the furthest depths of my mind to my fingertips and beyond. A prisoner to my own literary impulses, I chase after these words, these essences of linguistic life, in search of the perfect word. I pray to never find it, for it is the very thrill of the chase that drives my heart insane with passion, my brain with purpose.
I have never shied away from the page. The blank sheet on my screen or in my spiral notebook is a canvas, waiting for me to fill it with my art. And fill it I shall. It is my hope that my art endures for several centuries after I am done on this world.
But as much as I enjoy the pursuit of writing, the pursuit of publication, a sad fog creeps into my heart. Somewhere out there is a soul who longs to create, who strives to get their message, their vision, down on paper, or on the screen. Only something gets in the way. It could be real life, writer’s block, lack of inspiration, fear of rejection, or simple compulsive excuse-making.
This travesty must simply end, especially in the digital age. If you have something to say, you should say it. People might not always like what you have to say, and there is a chance you might offend someone. But if there’s a chance you could make someone’s life better, even for a second, shouldn’t you take it? Even if that someone turns out to be you and none other, go for it. The only absolute way to fail in writing is to never try.