I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD SLAPS, SPEED BUMPS and LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.

Friday, July 31, 2015

Naked and not afraid

When you have lived somewhere long enough, worked at a job forever, when dreams end in etc., when waiting becomes endless, when change becomes impossible, when tomorrow is your only winning lottery ticket, where do you go, how do you quit, find reality, leave instead of stay and  how do you flip a coin in an empty hand?

I live in a hamster wheel which has a governor on it to slow its momentum, around and around in the same track where time and tasks are deadening.

I want change and yet I dread it.

So I pulled my empty pocket inside out and wrote.

It is a very revealing and serious essay, my words, which I sent to the big guys. No humor, no tricks, no funny stuff to connect me to the general lives of the reader I seek to discover every time I write. Only introspection and examination of that which has always been an uncomfortable revisit to a small part of my childhood which, for a while, took the lead in my personal play.

It was with reservations, I sent the essay out, because it was so blatantly honest and personal. I sizzled with anticipation because I knew it was newsworthy, my slant a bit different and exactly what they wanted. Or was it?

Part of me was proud of my honesty and part of me was terrified. It left me mentally and emotionally naked. If it ran I had no place to hide and nothing with which to cover myself. I was convinced I was ready. But was I?

Terrified of acceptance and heartbroken by rejection, my wheel slowed, my world paused. “What if,” became my license plate.

My answer?

All but one editor responded.

“The piece is powerful.”

“Very well written.”


“Great writing.”


Words I have sought for thirty years. Words a writer like me dreams about, pines for, begs for, strips naked for. They saw me, and turned away, but they looked and liked my skin. I had done well. It was rejection without shame.

I washed myself in relief, concealed myself in denial, slept well and moved on.

In a world of writer’s self-deception I thanked the essayist in me for being so honest.


When was the last time you were so honest you feared acceptance?


  1. Obviously I had to scurry over here to see what the hell you were talking about from my own blog. You snuck this one in on me! Well done, 2N's. Those were GOOD rejections! Lovely words to read...and even though they won't run the piece, at least you know, as you say, they SAW you.


    1. Thanks Donna, best rejects ever and actually, I am relieved they didn't run it. Ha, sort of like validation without representation :)

    2. Exactly! And now, I'm also realizing my FF piece was almost fortuitous to this post. WEIRD. We must be having a brain vibe.

    3. I hear Twilight Zone theme music.
      Weird huh.

  2. You're right, those are words every writer wants to hear. Congrats on the courage to write honestly and be rewarded for it in some way.

    1. I've learned (and practiced) that writing honestly is (for me) the right way to go. It's the subject matter which takes that honesty to a whole new level.

      It's like eating something you assume you are allergic to. It tastes good but the anticipation of after effects creates apprehension and fear. I guess this time I ate just enough of what I cooked to get compliments and it only upset my writing-system a wee bit. Thanks for stopping by.