We were pushing our boys on the swings, side by side, her and I. It was a welcome break in the midst of a busy play date I was hosting near the beach. She turned to me and asked: “Do you write?”
The question surprised me, and my soul snapped to attention.
“Kind of. Sometimes. Why?”
She went on to explain how she had read something I wrote on a blog a few months ago, how it had touched her, how it sounded like I was a writer, how I have a “great voice.”
I tucked her words into a corner of my mind to chew on later.
The truth is, her words of encouragement have some stiff competition inside my head. The loudest voices have been there the longest, telling me that I don’t have what it takes to write, that I don’t have anything worth saying, and worse still, that even if I did, it’s already been said before, and better.
Sometimes I get up the nerve to start writing, but inevitably my words sputter and stall, and I’m left with terrible drafts and half-finished projects. I’m a professional excuse-maker: the kids need me, the house is a wreck, what about my job responsibilities, this is just a busy season.
But Reality rears its timid head and whispers “Haven’t others written several books with young children underfoot? If they made the time, why can’t you?”
This blog is my latest attempt to silence the negative voices in my head. With every post, I’ll muzzle the nay-sayers until the only noise to be heard is my own booming voice declaring “I told you so!”