Sometimes it’s hard to find what you want to talk about, let alone the words you want to say. Then once you finally figure that out, it’s hard to decide whether or not you want to share that with others.
These fears have plagued me for most of my adult life.
Truth be told, if someone were to hold the figurative gun to my head and ask what I really, truly want to do with my life, my answer would be to be a writer, preferably the successful kind. I don’t need to sell a million books, or have my shit turned into a movie or even be a household name; it would just be nice to know whether or not I’m wasting my time thinking about/attempting writing. Because I do, in fact, spend a lot of time feeling badly about not writing, or when I finally get around to writing something, worrying it’s something no one will give a shit about.
I know that a real artist would only be concerned with creating art, regardless of its impact on others. And while I understand where that statement is coming from, what is the point of art if it doesn’t at least touch another person? Shouldn’t art be something that other people are at least interested in?