"With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility." ~ Stan Lee or Voltaire?

I recently had this text exchange with a friend of mine:

You know, whenever you in particular “like” something I’ve written, it makes me think that I have something worthy to say and a good way of saying it. – This scares the crap out of me. – Knock it off.

“Both those things are true! And isn’t that kind of fear thrilling?”

*thrilling*

I hoped the sarcasm carried through text.

Last night, I spoke to a group of gathered women, sharing with them my experience, strength, and hope for a little while.

Afterward, the feedback included sentiments like, “That was beautiful, eloquent, articulate. It was like a short story. You speak like a writer. That was like a TED Talk.”

Little do they, or you, know, that a tiny little shoot of a dream tucked inside my ambitious heart is to be a TED talk person – on what, ver vaist, but I suppose that’s not my business yet.

This Sunday, I’m scheduled to attend a small writer’s group that’s just beginning, friends and friends of friends. It’s supposed to be supportive, just evoking some words onto a page, doesn’t have to be Faulkner. But one suggestion is to bring some writing we’re working on.

And, my brain says, I don’t write.

Here’s what I say when people ask me if I’m writing: Well, I do this blog, but other than that, I’m focusing on theater right now.

I don’t really write.

I know this blog is something. And I know that it’s worthy of being written for me and for those of you that enjoy it. I (sometimes) know it’s not a “brush-away” thing, but it’s private, still, sort of. It’s not a public venue, really; it’s not something to read at a writer’s circle, or submit to a magazine or journal. And I feel really unclear about what kind of venue this, my, kind of writing belongs in.

I do also know that I am focusing on theater right now. To use the metaphor again of my internal round table (well, it’s rectangular, but you catch my drift), all of them/us want to act right now, and only half-heartedly do they/we want to write, in a professional capacity.

I know one of the detractors is fear. And that’s alright, I don’t have to tackle all my demons or desires at once.

A friend once told me this: The only difference between fear and excitement is breathing.

That kind of fear, the fear that I might have something worthwhile to say and share and give. Something people want to read and be touched and changed by. Something that gets underneath the armor of separation, and helps us all to feel a little more vulnerable, aware, to smile & laugh & relate. Yeah, the fear of that kind of power, and responsibility, is pretty big.

So, I guess I’ll just keep breathing.