I’ve always written for an audience. Even now, I’m writing for an unknown, solitary figure sitting comfortably in the back of my mind. The constant need for approval and the unending desire to please will always accompany the letters that fall onto the page in front of me. I still haven’t decided where it stems from, and I almost don’t want to know. That’s a darkness I can’t handle.
I have yearned for the ability to write freely and with abandon. I want to be the author of words that make goosebumps rise on your forearms. I want to be the author that makes you say, “I didn’t know anyone else felt that way”. I want to be great. I want to inspire greatness. But how can I do that with such a critical inner judge? I can’t rise to the top if I’m unwilling to take the first step.