Next I clipped it and stripped it,
Formatted and edited,
Cutted it, tutted it,
Cleaned and themed,
Bolded the words
and chose a font,
tried to decide which style I want
Heads a wreck!
I think it's ready!
Ready to be unleashed on the World Wide Web. Now all that's left is to hit the button, the one that says 'publish'. And my words will be out there for all to see. A click away from a billion pairs of eyes.
My finger hovers for just a moment, and then I press it. It's out there!
I brace myself, for the impending criticisms, whilst mentally rehearsing modest acknowledgements to the imminent applause.
I decide to play the part of reader. I'm not sure about the title, is it catchy enough? I change it.
I scrutinise through other eyes, change a word, is the message heard?
I should leave it now. Do something else.
I have an audience! Yet no response. Did they like it? Did they hate it? Why don't they say?
I ask myself what they want, and I write again. It doesn't feel right. Not like it usually does.
Who am I writing for? An abyss of unseen faces, glaring expectantly from beyond the darkness.
Suddenly I find my freedom. Nobody is listening! I can speak openly. That feels natural. Writing, in it's most organic form, does not, after all, desire to be read. It only demands to be written.
The value of being unheard, is that there is nobody to impress, only truth to be spoken.
So I concentrate on speaking my truth, just like I always did. It's hard to ignore the imagined responses of a theoretical audience, so critical. Impossible to please!
I encourage my heart to hold the pen more tightly, hush my nagging brain. I might begin to sound insane, but at least it is relatable, authentic.
"You’ve got to sing like you don’t need the money
Love like you’ll never get hurt
You’ve got to dance like nobody’s watchin’
It’s gotta come from the heart if you want it to work." (Susanna Clark and Richard Leigh, Come from the Heart)
We can all recognise the value of this advice. Because fear will never guide us to our true calling.
True beauty, in art, creation, all that we do, and all that we say, comes from a place of love. When our hearts are free, expression is pure.
So I can only hope that nobody will read this, or rather, hope to write, as though they wont.