Tag Archives: amwriting

Oh What a World in Which I Can Write Poems about Swimming with Sharks

Last April, I signed on to do the Writer’s Digest Poem A Day Challenge, and I blogged about it on here. For each day in April, I wrote a poem. The challenge coincides with National Poetry Month.

The writer directing the challenge, Robert Lee Brewer, posted daily prompts for us to use, or not use. Writers were then encouraged to share their poems on an open thread on the website. People could comment on the poems and make suggestions.

It sounded like a bit of a nightmare to me, or at least the part about posting your poem online that YOU WROTE THAT DAY.

I have never written a poem (or a story or a blog post or even an email), and then thought, Gee, that is amazing. It’s the work of true genius. I should publish this immediately.

I am not that confident or foolish or both. I edit. Sometimes, I enjoy editing. Sometimes, editing feels like a slow, painful death through sentence restructuring.

(I do recognize the possibility that the people who posted their poems spent all day writing and editing those poems. And in that case, I am jealous of their luxurious amount of time for poem writing.)

And yes, I edit my emails. Sometimes you get that stream of thought going, and it just flows. But oops, you forgot the You part of Thank You, so it just says Thank.

That’s weird, guys.

Or maybe if you reread that email, you’d have realized abbreviating follow-up to f/u is not a good idea. At least not if you don’t want your boss to wonder what she did to deserve a fuck you reply.

I digress.

My point is editing is important. You should edit your writing before the world sees it. The thought of putting it out on the internet largely unedited terrified me. So I didn’t.

And what have I done with those thirty gems of glittery poetry since?

The poems are sitting out there in the cloud, mostly untouched. I have been writing and editing things since then, it has just been mostly stories and papers.

So I let my thirty, shiny poems gather dust.

A month ago maybe, I realized I missed poetry. I opened my Poetry in Progress folder, and the title “Shark-Infested Water” caught my eye.

It was poem about a dream where Agnes (the character I write about often) and I were swimming with sharks. I didn’t remember the dream or the poem, to be honest. I had written just a few lines. But I liked the idea.

Swimming through shark-infested water with your main character. The brain is full of weird, amazing ideas.

I started to flesh it out a little more, changed the title, and workshopped it with my writing partner/friend Rachel. She liked it, but wasn’t crazy about the ending. As usual, she was right.

I’ve been working on it the past couple of days. It’s getting close. And after I’m done, I will submit it. Then it’s back to the Poetry in Progress folder.

I have at least twenty-nine other poems to edit. And it feels like it’s time to get back at it.

This week’s video is a live recording of “Oh What a World” by Rufus Wainwright. It is a fantastically beautiful song, and this is a great recording of it. The performance does seem to have taken place on Halloween though. Wainwright doesn’t usually wear a witch hat when he performs. Enjoy friends!

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The Joy of Jumping Boundaries with Flash Fiction

I write flash fiction. It is a relatively new genre, differentiated predominately by its brevity. A flash piece should generally be less than 1,000 words. Most stories are in the 300-800 word range.

Flash fiction can feel constricting. The writer must construct a narrative arc in a very brief amount of space.

In other ways, flash fiction is incredibly liberating. Since the story’s time is short, there is no room for extra words or details. Characters often have no physical descriptions. If a setting is mentioned, it is described in the briefest detail.

Stories also don’t have to adhere to having a beginning, middle, and end. Flash fiction often drops you right into the middle of things. En media res, as the smart kids say. Conflicts develop quickly. Resolutions are messy, if offered at all. Often, the reader is left hanging, free to interpret what happens next.

There is also more of an experimentation with form. Flash fiction walks the line between a story and a poem. Language is more lyrical. Imagery is potent and often fantastical. Flash fiction stories often make you feel like you woke up in the middle of someone else’s dream.

These are the stories I like the best. The dream stories. The stories that ride that line, ping-ponging between poetry and narrative. The stories that don’t spare a single word and leave you gaping, gasping, and wanting always, more.

Below are some of those boundary-jumping stories.

Remembering How Beams of Steel Disintegrated While Whole Sheets of Paper Fluttered Down Like So Much Ash and Dust to the Street” by Catherine Averill from Paper Darts

I Am Going to Cook a Quiche in My Easy-Bake Oven and You Are Going to Like It.” by Roxane Gay from McSweeney’s Internet Tendency

Lost Luster” by Kayla Haas from Nano Fiction

This week’s video is “It’s Oh So Quiet” by Bjork, another artist who likes to play with boundaries.


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Finding Peace in a Room Full of Stories

When I lived in NYC, I worked as a visual stylist at Saks Fifth Avenue. My days were spent up and down ladders, applying graphics, dressing and re-dressing mannequins, painting, moving furniture around the floor, and putting together chandeliers. You name it; we pretty much did it.

It was inspiring. It was thrilling. It was chaotic.

I usually left bone-tired. Some days, it was more than that. I was frustrated. I was annoyed. I had hit my bullshit limit. Those days, I needed an out, some sane, a little peace and quiet.

Anthropologie was across the street in the Rockefeller Center shopping area. I know. There are so many beautiful places around this area. But for me, Anthropologie was the peaceful space I needed.

The smell hit me first. The store always burned its signature candles, which smelled like autumn air and musk and spice. The space was huge, airy. All the clothing, accessories, and home goods were perfectly placed. Everything looked like it came from your most stylish friend’s house.

I would walk in and breathe the peace and quiet. Let it settle on my skin. Sometimes I would buy something, usually something small, like a candleholder. Anthropologie is not inexpensive.

After I felt restored, I would grab the train home.

Spaces affect your mood. There are some rooms and places that just breathe peace. For me, Anthopologie is one of the places.

But I can’t really afford to spend every day at Anthropologie, nor do I want to revisit my life in retail.

This brings me back to my writing room/library. I wrote about it a few weeks ago.

I have made progress since then. I painted the walls (and some of the carpet) grey. I bought a rug to hide the (some of the carpet) grey. My friend helped me move a bookshelf in. I found a great Craigslist wingback chair. We moved the desk in.

I broke my writing room/library in on Wednesday.


Bookshelf porn.

A space full of stories is a lovely space to be in, my friends. And it is working already. I started a new story on Wednesday.

This week’s video is actually a shout-out for my partner-in-crime, James Wilson. His band, The Paisley Fields, has a record out today. If listening to country music music is your idea of peaceful, check out my favorite song “Brooklyn Rodeo.” Support his awesome band, and buy the EP! https://itun.es/us/PYOd-

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Guess What? Your Stance on Abortion Rights Doesn’t Excuse Your Sexism

In the article “Hillary baits Bernie beautifully: ‘Shouting,’ sexism — and the simple sorry that would make Sanders look less jerky,” Amanda Marcotte writes,

“During the first Democratic debate, Sanders responded to Clinton’s impassioned anti-gun argument by telling her that ‘all the shouting in the world’ won’t fix the issue. Now Clinton, to huge amounts of applause from the women in her audiences, has taken to saying, ‘Sometimes when a woman speaks out, some people think it’s shouting.’”

The full article is here: http://www.salon.com/2015/10/27/hillary_baits_bernie_beautifully_shouting_sexism_and_the_simple_sorry_that_would_make_sanders_look_less_jerky/.

Clinton is suggesting Sanders’ rebuttal is sexist. Sanders is known for shouting, and him suggesting Clinton needs to keep it down does seem like a double standard.

Women are responding to Clinton’s statement because we can relate.

I have a print hanging in my dining room. It says, “When a man expresses his opinion, he’s  a man. When a woman expresses her opinion, she’s a bitch -Bette Davis.”

Men are allowed to express their opinions freely. Men are allowed to raise their voices. Women are not.

As this article points out, even if Sanders does this to other men, it still doesn’t excuse his behavior.

Marcotte writes, “When a man is condescending to you, it’s often hard to tell if that’s just how he is to everyone or if it’s just women he talks down to. It gets even more complicated when you realize that a lot of men who are condescending to everyone still turn the volume up even more when they’re talking to women.”

So Sanders tells everyone to quit shouting about gun control. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t talking down to Clinton when he spoke to her.

And it also certainly doesn’t mean a man that tells you to lower your voice isn’t being condescending. Or that a man who yells at everyone might still yell extra loud at women. It, as Marcotte points out, so hard to know.

What is a woman to do? Too often, we do nothing. We stand there and let a man talk down to us. We let a man make us feel smaller because we are too nice or too afraid or too both.

And when I say we, I do mean we. I am guilty too.

Marcotte also writes, “Most feminists have dealt with condescending liberal men who think their support for abortion rights means they get to talk to you like you’re a child.”

I know this guy. I know way too many of this guy. It is like a shitty epidemic. Add one part beard, one part skinny jeans, and two great big dollops of misogyny.

Your girlfriend is a feminist? Doesn’t mean you don’t act like a misogynist. Or a racist. Or a homophobe. Or a delightful combination of all three.

And guess who gets to decide if what you are doing comes off as anti-woman? Not you, shitty, liberal dude.

What kind of sense does it make for a man to decide if a woman should feel offended?

It doesn’t. And yet, on so many occasions, I was told I was wrong about the thing they said, their friend said, or a shirt a scientist wore, being offensive.

I have hit my limit. I will not be shouted into submission. I will not accept your condescension. I will not be told what is offensive to women.

I am a woman. I am the only one qualified to decide what is offensive to me.

This week’s video is “Just One of the Guys” by Jenny Lewis.

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Time is the Ultimate Luxury

When I started to get serious about writing again, I realized I was going to have to let some other things go. And by let things go, I mean stop pursuing some of my other hobbies and interests.

Having multiple interests and passions doesn’t sound like it should be a problem. But for a writer, it is.

Because well, writing takes time. And carving out time to be a writer is hard.

I think writers are often terrifying to normal people, i.e. non writers in a capitalist system, for this reason: there is almost nothing they will not sell in order to have this time. Time is our mink, our Lexus, our mansion. In a room full of writers of various kinds, time is probably the only thing that can provoke widespread envy more than acclaim. –Alexander Chee in Catapult

You can read the full essay: https://catapult.co/stories/imposter. It is quite lovely.

Time is a writer’s mink. And I knew I needed more mink, if I really wanted to take this writing thing seriously.

I am a crafty person. I come by it from my mother, and she got the knack/passion from her mother. My Grandma Johnson was a wonderful painter, and she wrote too. But mostly, she painted.

My mom is more of a dabbler, like me. She did a little jewelry-making. She made stuffed rabbits and angels. She knits scarves. She used to make me the most amazing May Day baskets. And Halloween costumes. She sewed me a beautiful princess costume, complete with purple boa trim. She also made me a delightful Minnie Mouse costume.

I have also tried my hand at jewelry-making. I made a few necklaces that turned out pretty well.

I also refinished a number of furniture pieces in my home. Most of the pieces have turned out great, like my buffet, my dresser, and my desk/bookshelf.

My hot pink end tables also look pretty amazing. But it was too humid when I painted the tables, so neither one dried quite right. EVERYTHING sticks to the tables. I may try to go back and fix the pair someday, or I may not.

But that’s the thing. Repainting those tables is one thing I let go. I gave up those furniture refinishing projects. And jewelry-making.

Giving those things up allowed me more time to pursue writing. I can see it starting to pay off. I published a story. I will publish more stories.

But lately, I’ve been feeling the itch again. About a month ago, I decide to move my bed. I have a small bedroom, so I had the bed jammed up against the wall to maximize floor space.

I decided to move my bed, so it faces the door. The bed now dominates the room. But that’s ok. It is a bedroom, after all. I also bought myself some new sheets and pillows. I have to say, it feels like a new room. I am happier getting into bed, and in an odd way, I am happier getting out of bed.

I can’t explain it exactly, but the room feels lighter, more restful. It’s wonderful.

This minor revamp has me thinking about how I can make my space work better. And that’s when I came up with the idea of creating a writing room/library.

I have toyed with the idea before, but never really knew where to put it. I have a three bedroom house, but two of those bedrooms are currently occupied. The third room serves as a guest bedroom. I love having visitors, so I am not willing to give up that space.

I do have a front porch, which is separated into two rooms. One room houses my treadmill. The other room I use as sort of a big closet.

It’s a small room, but it could work, I realized. I can fit my desk and some bookshelves in there.

Of course, I started obsessing about paint colors, going back and forth about what was the perfect shade for a writer’s room. Then I looked at the space again. There are four windows and a door in this tiny room. There is very little wall to paint.

So I decided to let the big paint color decision go as well. I have enough grey or black paint to cover the walls.

But the chair. This is actually an important decision. I have never really been one to sit at a desk and write. So the chair needs to be something big and comfy, something I can pull away from the desk and just sit in, if the desk starts to feel too formal for me.

I found this beautiful chair at World Market. But it costs $300.

The chair, in all its pink loveliness.

The chair, in all its pink loveliness.


So I’ve been prowling Craigslist for wingback chairs. I’ve seen more than a few that would get the job done and for much cheaper. I will make my mind up eventually.

This weekend, I am going to try to get the walls painted.

But if I don’t, I don’t. Having a writing room/library will be lovely. But not as lovely as having that time to write. Because writing is the one luxury I can’t live without.

This week’s video is “Holocene” by Bon Iver. I listen to this album when I am writing. There is something so peaceful and soothing about the music.

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How I Handle the Mean Reds

I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. I find that saying to be, well, a bullshit platitude.

I do understand the appeal of bullshit platitudes. When bad things are happening in your life, this phrase or phrases like it give you something to latch onto. It gives you hope there is a bigger cosmic reason for your suffering. I mean, why else are you being punished like this, if not for some greater good.

The phrase has a distinct appeal.

But I guess I’ve seen too much. For the life of me, I can’t imagine what good comes from a child being molested or a woman beaten senseless.

I am all for finding a silver lining, but sometimes bad stuff just happens. And even sometimes hearing about that silver lining is too much. Sometimes you just have to sit with the sadness.

But if believing everything happens for a reason gets you through it, believe it. Do what you have to do, so you don’t sink into the sadness forever.

Confession: One of my cures for the mean reds (It’s a Breakfast at Tiffany’s reference. The mean reds are like the blues, but worse.) is to visit the Quotes board on Pinterest. I scroll through until I find a quote that strikes a chord with me. Then I pin it. I go back and read these quotes when I am in need of cheering up. I do it less than I used to, but I still do it.

There is comfort in scrolling through the words. There is comfort in knowing I’m not alone, that other people need words like this too.

Here’s one of the first ones I pinned: “Let your past make you better, not bitter.” Some pretty good advice I’d say. A little hokey sure, but solid advice.

Move on, these words told me. Do better things. Be a better person. Let it fucking go. Good, but not necessarily easy advice.

Here’s another one: “Wake up. Kick ass. Repeat.” This is honestly one of my favorite pins. This phrase still floats around my head. When your life seems busy and a little overwhelming, as mine does sometimes, you just need a reminder to take a breath and get it done.

These words tell me to hit the floor running, to send emails, to make phone calls, to write words, to walk the dog, to follow-up on those emails and calls, to cook an amazing dinner, and then go see that awesome band.

Don’t get me wrong. I am all for Netflix marathons, but I also get shit done. Nobody is going to take a wand and magically *poof* turn me into a writer. Only I can do that.

Life happens. Change is inevitable. The way we adapt to the changes life throws at us is what’s important. These phrases, hokey or not, helped me realize I wanted to be better, not bitter. I wanted to kick ass harder.

So I do. I wake up, kick ass, and then I repeat.

This week’s video is “Landslide “ by Fleetwood Mac.

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I Wrote a Story + Editors Liked It = Story Published

So. It. Happened. One of my stories was accepted for publication. You can read my flash fiction story “Everything They Said About You” at The Electronic Encyclopedia of Experimental Literature. Here it is: https://theeeel.com/everything-they-said-about-you-pamela-dewey/.

Queue corks popping, dancing in the streets, general debauchery, etc.

When I received the email stating the story was accepted, I read it a least ten times before I thought, yes, I’m pretty sure that is what it says.

It’s not that I don’t think I can write. I know I can write. It’s just when you hear “No” so many times, doubt creeps in.

So this week, here is a video essay following the range of my emotions.

First stage: Disbelief, minor terror. Song, “Pedestrian at Best” by Courtney Barnett.

After I read the words enough times to believe my story was accepted, the joy hit. Now for real, queue the popping of corks, or at least the dancing to Michael Jackson.

Second Stage: Joy. Song, “Don’t Stop Til’ You Get Enough” by Michael Jackson. This song always stretches a smile across my face.

Then I waited for the story to appear. The editors gave me a time frame, but I wasn’t sure of the exact day. I was enjoying a glorious Sunday, and I made a joke that I hadn’t checked the site in a couple days. I clicked, and my story had magically appeared.

Third Stage: Joy, disbelief, minor terror. Song, “Pretty Hurts” by Beyonce. I think this song/video fits exceptionally well with my story, and those emotions as well.  Hope you like my story. I can’t wait to share more!




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How to Edit like a Serial Killer

I like words. I like phrases that catch on my tongue. I like sentences that stop me, spin me sideways, and knock me on my ass.

I write. It makes sense.

However, I don’t think writing needs to be complicated. I mean, writing is inevitably complicated, but reading doesn’t have to be.

I’m not trying to say we should all read every Twilight book (though I have), or burn every copy of War and Peace (also a good read).

I like a doorstop of a novel just as much as the next girl. I just don’t think everyday writing should fall into the doorstop category.

People incapable of communicating clearly frustrate me. Why is it so hard to say what you mean?

Unless you’re writing the next David Foster Wallace novel or an article for a medical journal, your writing should be simple and easy to understand. Jargon should be avoided. Points should be made quickly.

There is a whole genre of books dedicated to the art of writing clearly. Hello Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style. If you’ve taken a writing class in college, there is a good chance you read this book. And if you’re a writer, you probably own this book.

Perhaps one of the most well-known rules is, “Omit needless words.” Solid advice. By omitting extra words, the writing is simpler and clearer. In the back of my head, I always hear one of my journalism professors, Judy Polumbaum, saying this.

The semester I was in her class, I sharpened my editing skills considerably. I also learned to cut the word “that” mercilessly. Here’s the rule: If you remove “that” from your sentence and it still makes sense, you don’t need “that.”

When I proofread writing, I am like a serial killer with “that,” and Judy is still behind my shoulder, raising the hatchet.

Thanks Judy.

I understand not everyone went to journalism school and learned from a Judy. It still doesn’t excuse some of the bad communication I see on a daily basis. I’m talking about people that send you long-winded emails without stating what they need from you. Or people that call you on the phone to clarify things, and then inevitably, just dance around what they want to say.

Or a bank employee who delays processing a loan, and when you ask if she needs more documents, she just ignores the question. Then five days later when you call, why yes, she does need those documents.

Sounds frustrating right?

My point is, we could all try a little harder. About to send an email? Read it through once. When I do, I inevitably find a word forgotten, or a sentence that needs clarification. Or maybe just maybe, making a phone call might be a better way to communicate. (I can hear my Millennial friends cringing as I say this. But let’s be real, sometimes it helps.)

Working on a paper or a presentation? Try printing it off, and proofreading the paper copy. It is astonishing how many more things you catch when you aren’t reading something on a screen. Or try reading it aloud. When you read something to yourself, it is easier to find words you left out or phrases that sound awkward.

I have written my share of unclear prose. But each day, I set out to do better. I think about Judy, and then we drop the hatchet, sentence after sentence.

This week’s video is “Psycho Killer” by the Talking Heads. It’s a great song. I hope it inspires you to take a hatchet to your prose.

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4 Things You Imply When You Say “You’ll Change Your Mind” to a Woman Who Doesn’t Want Kids

When I was a young girl, I had a fake bottle with fake milk to feed my fake babies.

I remember drawing a picture of a pink house with purple heart-shaped windows. A tiny, girly dream house for a tiny (mostly) girly girl and her babies.

I even had a name picked out for my daughter– Vendella. (I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, and this name seemed properly dramatic and exotic for my daughter.)

Then I hit puberty. My plans to birth a tiny, dramatic Vendella vanished.

I didn’t want kids. Ever. I proceeded to tell people that. I continued to tell people that. I still tell people that.

My declaration has received varied responses. “Oh, you’ll change your mind” is fairly common. “You’ve still got plenty of time,” or “Who will take care of you when you’re older?” come up quite often as well.

The implication is always the same.

1. All women want kids.
2. You know more about what I want than I do.
3. I haven’t met the magical man that will make me want to birth babies.
4. If I don’t have kids, I will lead a sad, lonely life.

In the essay “The Mother of All Questions” Rebecca Solnit talks about being interviewed about one of her books, she writes,

“The British man interviewing me insisted that instead of talking about the products of my mind, we should talk about the fruit of my loins, or the lack thereof…The interviewer’s question was indecent, because it presumed that women should have children, and that a woman’s reproductive activities were naturally public business.”

The full essay is available: http://harpers.org/archive/2015/10/the-mother-of-all-questions/1/.

Why is having children a question regularly addressed to a woman? These questions aren’t often asked of men.

Solnit was a woman being interviewed about her writing. Her desire to give birth certainly doesn’t have anything to do with her ability to write a book about politics. These questions are almost never asked of male writers. Solnit just happens to be a woman and a writer. Since she is a woman, the interviewer decided it was fair game to bring up her lack of children, and then imply there was something wrong with her because she didn’t have or want kids.

Remember. Writer. Woman. Fair Game.

There are plenty of people that don’t want kids. Men and women. But a woman that doesn’t want children is treated much differently than a man. There must be some trauma in her past to make her feel this way. Or she just hasn’t met the right man. Or she will change her mind. It is absurd. And belittling.

“More fundamentally, the question assumed that there was only one proper way for a woman to live,” Solnit writes.

The question assumed a woman was incomplete, unless she was a mother with children. There are many ways to be a woman. Not having children doesn’t make you less of a woman. And not wanting kids doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you.

Solnit also points out that having children doesn’t ensure you’re going to have a great life.

“I’m all for marriage and children, when it and they are truly what people want from their lives” Solnit writes.

I feel the same way. If you want kids, a husband, a house, and a white picket fence, have at it. But there are many ways to find happiness.

There are also many ways to create a family. Your family could be you and your husband. Your family could be you and your child. Your family could be you and your dog. Your family could be your best friend and his husband.

The less time we spend trying to live how we are supposed to live, the more time we will have to live in ways that actually make us happy.

“I have done what I set out to do in my life, and what I set out to do was not what the interviewer presumed. I set out to write books, to be surrounded by generous, brilliant people, and to have great adventures,” Solnit writes.

Well said, sister.

This week’s video is “Independent Women, Pt. I” from Destiny’s Child. For you know, my independent ladies out there.

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How to Destroy the Fear That Forms You

I wouldn’t say I suffer from anxiety, not like a lot of people suffer from anxiety. But I have had three full-fledged panic attacks.

One of attacks occurred while I was driving, which was a terrifying experience.

I have never been particularly fond of driving. While I lived in New York, I didn’t have a car. I never drove.

A few years ago, I was going through a stressful time in my life, and I was rear-ended driving back from Des Moines, IA. In my brother’s car. Which was totaled.

I shook most of the way home.

Physically, I was fine, but my fear of driving really took root then.

A few months later, I was driving down the same stretch of road. I was following a semi, and something blew out of the window.

It was just a small thing really, probably not anything that would’ve caused an accident. But I was already on edge.

I started breathing heavily and sweating. I heard a rushing sound in my ears.

I managed to drive to the next exit and pull over. I was shaking. I tried to take deep breaths. I sat there until I calmed down.

I found out later the sound was blood rushing to my head because I was having a fight-or-flight response. My body was gearing up for a confrontation.

My driving nervousness has improved, though I still am not fond of making that drive down 35W. I much prefer driving in stop-and-go traffic around the cities. Strange, I know.

My fear manifests itself in other ways. I am afraid of rejection. I am afraid of failure. I am afraid of disappointing my family. I am afraid of disappointing myself, of wasting my life away.

The thing about fear or anxiety is that if you let it, it controls you. It stops you from doing things you want to do.

My fear of failure and rejection prevented me from submitting stories for publication.

My fear of disappointing my family prevented me from writing about certain things.

And these fears did control me. These doubts prevented me from working toward becoming a writer.

I can’t point to one clear moment when I decided to let go. And let’s be honest, I still have these fears, but these fears no longer control me.

There is no way my mom is going to love everything I write. I can live with that.

Part of being a writer is facing rejection. Not everything I write is going to be good or worthy of being published.

I have just decided that not trying to get my work published is far worse than trying and failing. I know if I never submit my work, it will never be published. And that is the one kind of failure I am no longer willing to accept.

This week’s video is “Rather Be Here” from my friend James’ former musical incarnation, Frightened Cellar. It is off the album Destroy The Fear That Forms You, which inspired my headline. I have included the lyrics below because maybe his words will resonate with you, like his words did for me.

“Rather Be Here”

It’s not time you’ve wasted
I’m sure you’ve come fairly far
From complaining about the past and spending all day in the bar
You might have been a punch card
It’s something they’d have been proud of
Don’t let your doubts stain everything you stand for

When the past is the past and the song comes undone
I’ll still be here waiting for you to grow up
When you start looking forward and seeing your worth
I’ll be right here waiting for you to come back to earth

So get out of that painting and don’t be so sad
Sure you took things for granted and often looked back
Just keep moving forward you might be a star
Or love yourself someday, that’d be the best fate by far

When the past is the past and the song comes undone
I’ll still be here waiting for you to grow up
When you start looking forward and seeing your worth
I’ll be right here waiting for you to come back to earth

When the days are growing tired and nothing seems right
When hope’s a distant memory and you can’t leave the night
Just keep moving forward it’s the only way you can go
You’ll have your time yet, this life is your show

When the past is the past and the song comes undone
I’ll still be here waiting for you to grow up
When you start looking forward and seeing your worth
I’ll be right here waiting for you to come back to earth
I’ll be right here waiting for you to come back to earth

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