I think the part I hate most about writing is how vulnerable I become. As I type you're seeing into my mind, into my soul. It makes sending short stories in to be published and receiving the subsequent rejection letters devastating. They're not just rejecting my work, they're rejecting me. It's silly and obviously untrue, but it still feels that way.
Writing leaves me bare. It strips me of all my falsehoods and pretenses. It opens me to the core. You have the opportunity to play upon the inner workings of my soul. It's freeing and absolutely terrifying, sometimes crippling. I have a project I want to work on, but can't because I'm finding it's too revealing, too personal. It's me, it's all of me. What if someone reads it and thinks it's crap? What if it reveals all the cracks and flaws within me and that the people I love stop loving me for it?
They don't talk about it in English class- the insecurity of writing. They don't warn you when you step down that path. It wasn't until my senior year that I even realized what it was doing to me. Thank you Carlton Floyd, for flaying my skin and stripping me to the bones. Thank you for showing me my potential. Thank you for leaving me bare.