Writing (#3, Pastime Series)

I’ve started this blog entry several times now. I start it, erase it, and start again. I blame this, partially, on writer’s block. I blame it mostly on the fact that I’m still not sure I want to publicly reveal this part of me. Fear of rejection? Perhaps. This falls into a category of hobbies that I enjoy, but have no idea if I have any aptitude for. In short, I like to write.

Of course, I write this blog, which is to me a public journal. But the kind of writing I’m talking about is fiction. Some who know me well might be surprised to learn that I enjoy writing. It is not a face that I wear in the open. Like my blog, the fiction I write is really aimed inward—toward myself. It’s a kind of therapy. I’m amazed sometimes at the way hopes, dreams, fears, and philosophy can come together on the printed page. For me, it’s a way of coping with my shyness, and expressing myself indirectly. Did I mention how vulnerable I feel writing this?

The novel I’m working on was born of a dream—the kind of dream that makes plenty of sense, until I try to explain it. Then I realize it’s all gibberish. But I decided to make it make sense. So a story built up around it. It’s probably a lousy story. It probably still makes no sense, but I enjoy writing it. I enjoy it, even though it’s a hopelessly romantic tale, the kind of book I’d never read. Ironic, eh?

I have no doubt the novel would never win any literary prize. I’d be astounded if it were ever even published. It needs a good editor. I’m sure by intellectuals’ standards, the book is trash. But then, I’ve read too many books that were acclaimed by the snobbish world of English graduates that I thought were pitiful. How is it that some of these books make the NY Times bestseller list?

On the other hand, I’ve read many other works that have touched me deeply. They were skillfully written, with style and grace, signifying their respective authors’ brilliance—a brilliance I could never hope to approach.

But again, I write for me. And if someone else enjoys it, all the better. I just don’t expect it, that’s all.

I have toyed a long time with the idea of posting chapters of my book to this blog. Honestly, I could use some critical opinion. But, I’m still wondering if I’m ready to expose myself so candidly. I also worry about sharing an unfinished work in public domain. But, like this blog motivates me to continue journal writing, I think posting my unfinished book might motivate me to keep writing it. It might help to bounce ideas off other folks.

What do you think? Should I post the first chapter?