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I was supposed to post this yesterday but never made it to. So one more day that is a little off in this project – another day that my thoughts weren’t written down. That’s not true, they were, but not here, not for myself, just for other people. I’ll post this blog, then hopefully post another one tonight, or maybe two tomorrow. I don’t know. I just feel like it has to be up and I have to keep up.

“If you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects. If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered, anyway.”
― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

I will state right now, the only Stephen King book I have read is the one on writing, although I should probably change that at some point. His writing throughout that book, however, makes a lot of sense – especially the quote above. The problem is, I still am holding back from society. Even as I push other people’s writing on grief and depression, even as I know that writing is only good when it isn’t forced – when it’s emotions running out of a writer instead of carefully selected and presented nicely on the paper.

Every time I hear another person likes reading these daily posts, I feel that I have to make them enjoyable, that they need to be positive, amusing, or at least certainly not depressing or too dramatic. Nothing that controversial – because I don’t want to have to defend myself. Nothing too sad, because I don’t want people that know my sadness to also feel it, just because I brought it up.

Writing, especially every day and sending it out into the world, is scary. Writing not-so-happy stuff because I just feel that way, also not entirely exciting knowing that people may judge. Of course, I have had two events just last night and this morning that I could write about, and I may later, when I feel like I can properly explain what it’s like to be sitting under cherry trees and just outside medieval walls of Florence in the sunshine and not really enjoy it as much as I should – because my mind is elsewhere.

So I guess the real battle I’m battling is the “truth” one – that seems to get erased when the Instagram stories only show the good parts – because not many people will take photos of themselves when they’re stressed out of their minds and nothing is going right – except Nora from No Happy Endings. When she does, I feel better. I feel like maybe breaking down these stupid professional barriers and makeup faces and selfie smiles would be good for us – even though we’ve known this already for far too many years.

With writing, it’s the same. I have book ideas that I know would ruin people. I have other ideas that may even ruin me for a while. But is that word the right one? Ruin? Or is it just polite society that would be ruined. Are we all refraining to say things through clenched teeth because its the proper way? Or have we just recently found that when people don’t buffer themselves, everything goes to hell?

I’ll say today I have more time than yesterday, but it doesn’t mean the words are flowing happily. They’re sputtering out in bursts that are too loud and not powerful enough at the same time. They’re the median of everything, not happy, not sad, the neutral words that are supposed to fill the space around the good ones, but my good ones are seemingly locked away for the moment because unfortunately, I’m still a bit scared of society for some reason.

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