My only honest option is to tell the truth.
I’d like to pretend I have something to say—something compelling for you to praise in the comments below.
However, the sad facts are otherwise. The ugly, honest-to-god, and truly tragic truth is I’m completely clueless—cowering mute and wordless in the corner. And that’s a good day.
It’s also true that I’ve felt this way before.
I’ve woken before on the wrong side of a far-from-perfectly-posted Serta—the silent side, that is.
And I survived. Maybe I’ll make it this time, too.
Maybe I’ll live to blog again another day.
But maybe, just maybe, god-forbid, you’ve felt this way, as well. Maybe I’m not alone. Maybe you’ve met my enemy censors in the back alley of your own writing life. Maybe a terrorist editor haunts you, too, perching on the edge of paragraphs, mocking from the margins.
If so, please, for the love of blog gods, come clean in the comments below.
Surely I’m not the only desperate, pathetic writing neurotic, posting myself silly and insane on this crazy, craving-to-be-Freshly-Pressed planet.