I’ve never been one to like being photographed. In fact, I spent over a decade avoiding cameras altogether. The two dimensional image never sync’d up with what was in my head. I expected each image to be nuanced and full. Just recently my mother unearthed pictures of me – my high school graduation and a couple of family pictures prior to my dad’s passing. As I viewed these snapshots of my life, I had a flash of objectivity. I saw myself as others might have. Fears and doubts melted under the bright sun of truth. I was/am/will be something special.
My writing journey is much the same way. Someday’s my writing seems to be an exercise in brilliance, then the next day I’m an idiot. The day after? I’m somewhere in between. My mother’s ‘suggestion’ for getting through my crisis of writing?
Sweetheart, maybe you should talk to someone. You know, someone other than the voices in your head.
I’d be really annoyed if she wasn’t right about those conversations.