Fear.
Anything I’ve ever done that ultimately was worthwhile… initially scared me to death. ~Betty Bender
I started writing stories when I was little. I think it grew out of the fact that my father liked to make-up bedtime stories for me and my siblings when we were younger. I have a distinct memory of a story called The Bear that I wrote when I was nine years old. It was three pages long, in my terrible handwriting, and I was so proud of it.
I continued writing, mostly poetry, in my teens. What teen doesn’t write angsty poetry?
And then at nineteen, I wrote a play.
Somewhere between nineteen and twenty, I started to believe the lesser angels in my life that I couldn’t write. It’s one of those little voices that slowly blossom into raging torrents in your mind. And then, I didn’t write. I couldn’t finish a story for anything.
And I gave up because I was afraid.
Two things I have always hated…giving up and fear.
About two years ago, I decided to just write a stupid story for fun, and I finished it. I actually finished it. Then I had this crazy dream that wouldn’t get out of my mind, and I turned it into a NaNoWriMo story, which I then edited into Ivy.
The thing about fear is that it’s a healthy thing to have, but not a healthy thing to give in to. At some point, you have to find a way to push beyond the terrifying voices that love to tell you something cannot be done.
