“Can you write what is genuine?” I hear the voice whispering faintly to me. “Can you lay aside your ego, your reputation, and your desire to be liked long enough to write what is real? That thing that comes straight from the heart?

Truthfully, I do not know. I have many aspirations. Many desires. Many goals. I’d like everyone to rush to praise me for my literary genius, or for my as-of-yet unproven accomplishments.

Where do I go from here? This place where a Zac Efron movie moves me to tears. To reevaluate. To consider my path. To consider revising my revision.

It’s not enough to share what I think everyone will want to read. It’s not enough to share what I hope everyone wants to hear. It’s not enough to put on any of the myriad facades I’ve worn to walk the line and play the part of whatever type of praise I wish I was earning at the moment.

There is a moment of opportunity we each have. A choice. To share what is real, before the reasoning and the leveraging and the positioning kick in. Before they take over and steer the ship toward politically correct or professionally desirable waters.

To pass the test is to be simple. To be raw. To be kind. Humility is not a luxury. It’s a choice. A choice that must be made.

This is simply me, telling you that I feel trapped inside someone else’s life. Unable to tap into the hidden writer God placed in me. For fear of failure, rejection, and the like. There’s a me I’ve never let out because to let me out and find myself a failure would be to squash every hope I’d never pursued. That eternal hibernating hope.

Raw me is glad you’re here, even if you’re not. Thank you for visiting.

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