fear and sharing in des moines

Not so very long ago I declared myself a criminal for not sharing my works more often. I've taken steps towards rectification of that valid charge, and I'm glad.

A good friend invited me to join an online journal of sorts, which I did. On my first day as a member of this site I pulled a classic "you are a writer just DO this" move. I sat at my desk, staring at the blank "publish a story" screen. And then I let my fingers do the talking, and typed a story. I didn't edit it. I didn't re-read before posting. I just wrote. It was short, but from the heart. It felt good.

I've also been re-publishing (with a few minor edits) my travelogue from my trip to Scotland on this blog. These posts are dear to me, and I apologize to anyone who finds reminiscences of a 2 year old vacation tedious. You don't have to read them, of course. But for me, it's how I remember that amazing experience. I wrote those posts originally in a beat-up notebook. Sometimes in an airport or on-board a plane. Sometimes in the back of the rental car. Oftentimes in my hotel room before calling it a night. And I'm glad I did that. By reading those posts, imperfect as they may be, I can chuckle at what struck my 22-yr-old self as worth noting, and be reminded of other parts of the trip that I neglected to write down. I am transported back to my favorite city in the world; to my homeland. And as I'm distancing myself from facebook, I think they belong here now.

Skip back a paragraph and remember the website I referred to as having recently joined. I just--mere moments ago--posted the first couple of pages from my biggest work in progress; a child's story, a fairytale. I just emailed my best friend about it:
"i just shared part of the children's story i've been working on off & on for 3 years on fictionaut and now want to throw up."

She kindly replied:
"WHY?!?!?!"

To which I said this, which is basically what I am trying to say in this blog anyway:

"because it's like my secret. it's my work in progress. it's my baby; my masterpiece. not b/c it's going to amount to anything outside of my head and my heart, but b/c it means so much to me.

i wrote the story originally on church bulletins at Sioux City. weeks' worth. i lost those, but the storyline stuck with me.

and then i got the complete set of Hans Christian Andersen's works, and i was so MOVED by the way he wrote, i just knew i had to re-write that story again.

everything about it matters to me. aside from the main characters name, each character has a name that is some form of flora that's meaning fits their character description. i mean, i've got problems with it. the way the story has developed (it's like 20 pages long by now, which isn't THAT long, but stil) doesn't match up w/ the intro. but still. it's my baby...and by sharing it...i am VULNERABLE."

In summary... I'm taking action. I'm facing fears. I'm growing. Cheers!