I overthink my writing a lot. I overthink everything a lot. I spend most of my days wishing for the spark of inspiration or even a vague idea to keep held in my brain. I’ve spent nights writing novels non stop with words flowing out of my fingers like gushing waterfalls and nights where I open the page and then close it.
I struggle with the feelings of unworthiness. I mean who really cares about what I have to say? I don’t know. It’s lovely to say things like “Who cares what others think!” or “Do it for you not anyone else!”
But honestly what’s the point of sharing something if nobody reads it? If nobody enjoys it? Imagine how many beautiful pieces of poetry are never read because the person just didn’t have the platform of 20K+ followers to gush over every letter.
How do you get that following? How do you even start? People tend to only listen to the beautiful people who travel the world and take photos on beaches at sunset that caption their photos with poems. You’re caught by the beauty and you stay for the words. But what if the beauty isn’t there. What if the incredible poet didn’t have a personal photographer?
What if the novelist didn’t have the money to publish?
I’m caught with envy for people who have more than I and despite my best try I can’t seem to shake it.
