Your slithering eyes go back and forth,
A sigh escaping from your tired chest.
It’s obvious that what you see displeases you.
The tap of your pen on the table top
And the sound of the clock that can pierce the silence
Of the room that I have come to loathe.
The Reading Room where work is judged
And never favourably, may I add.
I tentatively sent a few poems out to some literary magazines yesterday, something that I have never done before. And mostly because I’m scared.
I do write on here and I have a little Twitter and Instagram account but that’s not really judged. That’s just me pretending to be a writer. This is actually going to be looked at by people who do this as their business and that scares the crap out of me.
But come what may, I do need to start getting more confident in my work and in myself as a person. I worry so much about what people think and I wonder how many opportunities I’ve missed because I was worried that somebody was going to laugh at my efforts.
And what makes it even more sad is the fact that I truly believe that art is subjective. What one person hates, another loves. So why should I care if one editor hates what I do? I sometimes need to listen to my own advice and just take a leap of faith.
If you have something that you’ve been frightened of doing because you’re worried about other people’s judgements, maybe now is the time to take some steps toward doing it anyway.