To the Writers Who Think They Have Nothing to Say
It occurs to me that there is an entire group of people -- thousands? millions? -- who believe themselves to be writers. Who are writers. Who, come January, commit (and recommit) to their writing practice. I'll wake up early and write! I'll start a blog, for real this time! I'll submit a manuscript. I'll pitch that publication!
These well-intentioned resolutions feel like something you will 100% definitely do (this time).
Until fingers meet keyboard and your heart starts to sink, that old familiar feeling rushing back in.
I don't have anything to say.
Let me stop you right there.
You have everything to say. You have heartbreak and triumph, both present in your smile. You have lived an extraordinary life -- even if your life, in comparison to others, feels small. You have moved mountains and boxes, made houses feel like homes. You have held hands and space. You have built friendships and broken down walls. And even if you don't believe you have done any of these things (I promise you have, in your own way), you have an entire brilliant, complex world living inside of you.
You are the story.
I know. It does not feel that easy. It probably never will.
You will stumble and fall and your words will come out clunky and you will learn how to keep starting, anyway. That is all you really have to do: keep starting, keep writing, keep reminding yourself of your magnificence.
You do not need promises of book contracts and blog posts. You do not need to commit to an hour a day. You simply must write.
So go, write oceans into existence. You are, after all, a writer.