Boom Clap the Sound of my Heart

Title is irrelevant, but maybe it will get stuck in your head.

Any who, I suck at writing. I have no doubts in my mind about that. I hate the rigidity that I feel when I think of the technicalities of the written word. I just want put words out there. I prefer conversation over writing, but I can’t help but respect how writing can reach people in ways that verbal conversation cannot.

So here I am.

When I write stuff, I just get paranoid about making it look and sound pretty, instead of having my “voice” be heard in the things I write. Its stifling, and by extension, suffocating. I envy those with the ability to tell a great story. Those who can captivate others they are addressing with relatable stories that they can genuinely enjoy. The way they can create stories that people don’t even question whether it is true or not because deep down, they want it to be true and the details of their story are so well thought out and relatable that even if it were completely fictional, nothing in our brain is triggered as suspect, and therefore, we just listen. We hang on every word just waiting to see where things are going. The good ones know this is the case. The good story tellers know when their audience is waiting for a curve ball or a punchline, so they use that to their advantage and still find a way to outsmart even the seemingly prepared among their flock. A good storyteller possesses an extremely valuable skill that can create incredible opportunities not only for themselves, but for others as well.

I mean, OJ got off because of great story tellers.

Anyway, all this to say, I just feel like I can never quite get my true voice in my work because I am constantly paranoid about how my writing looks in black and white or how it sounds when it is read by others. A petty roadblock, but it is my petty roadblock. Ultimately, I guess I struggle to express my self creatively. I do feel as if I’ve been able to genuinely do it a few times, but the glory is short lived because the frustration that I can’t do it more often and more consistently takes over. Trepidation engulfs the machinations of my mind thus perpetuating an inescapable cycle of paralysis and self-deprecation.

Big word quota? Filled.