Am I worthy of being a writer?
I loved Nirvana.
I loved Kurt Cobain.
And even though I only understood 28% of his lyrics, I felt 100% of them.
Thrown down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back.
You can debate the meaning of that line all day but at a minimum, dude was troubled and fragile and a poet and it all spewed out into his music.
Compare that to the Hair Metal movement of the late 80’s/early 90’s and you get something like:
They say I spend my money on women and wine
But I couldn’t tell you where I spent last night
Not a lot of need to try and dissect those two sentences. Just tip your Budweiser and chug.
Here’s my dilemma of the day:
What if I’m the Bret Michaels of writing?
Is all of my stuff ultimately dispensable?
Can I be a legit writer without a great back story, without life changing struggles and not having faced too many difficult times in my past?
Am I capable of pushing readers’ emotional buttons as a result?
True story #1 — I’ve never had a political debate with someone on Facebook or in “real” life.
True story #2 — I’ve never engaged in a physical confrontation.
True story #3 — I own 2 Poison cassettes and 3 Motley Crue CD’s.
True story #4 — I’ve lived in New Jersey my entire life and I think I’ve been out of the U.S twice.
True story #5 — My parents are cool and I approve of how they raised me.
Knowing all of that, would you give a shit about what I have to say? I don’t know that I would be a fan of me.
My biggest regret to date is that I haven’t failed enough in my lifetime. That isn’t some sort of humblebrag. I’ve just played it safe and engineered scenarios where the only option is to play it safe. The concept of risk doesn’t exist in my toolbox and I’m fairly certain I’ve never “gone for it”. I am not all that familiar with life lessons and battle scars.
But I fucking love writing. Typing that last sentence brought me palpable pleasure. Writing is my outlet of choice. Writing allows me to be a more interesting version of myself which in turn makes me like me more.
Up until now, my only true writing outlet has been through my gardening blog. I know, not exactly a topic with a need for riveting prose. But between all of my gorgeous plant pics and manicured gardens (did the sarcasm come through here?) I managed to create a voice for myself.
But it has been relatively easy.
Gardening is a passion and waxing poetic about my own garden has been somewhat effortless. Not a lot of need for strong arguments or controversial stances (although don’t get me started on Round-Up) or emotional outpourings. Just my personal experiences in the dirt and daily observations. Cute stuff.
I hate cute.
I need different.
I need to recruit my emotional muscles.
I need more negative feedback.
I need to go for it and not be afraid of failing.
I need not easy.
I need writer’s block.
Medium, specifically this publication, has provided that opportunity. And I am grateful. I just hope I can bring it with each piece and most importantly, I hope I can sustain it. Let’s see if my uninteresting and soft background thesis has any validity.