If I didn’t write scared, I would never write. Because writing can be scary business, putting a little bit of your inside out there, you can’t help but feel that maybe a little more of your inside ended up outside than you intended. But I never write timid. And I never bleed onto the page. Because simply put, I might be scared, but my writing never is. Because the moment I can put words to the fear, somehow it becomes less fearful. You name it, and it suddenly has boundaries; you describe it, and it becomes measurable, with physical qualities that make it understandable; you learn from it, and it has a point, and the power is in the lesson, not the emotion.
You go from this:
But what does this have to do with blog posts? Well, I follow a few, and I occasionally read them with my literary criticism hat on, and sometimes with my “why do I like this blog more than that blog” hat. I do like classifying things and putting them in order, and analysing the underlying themes and conversations between blogger and reader. I like the ones where the passion imbues the message, where the writer is not trying to be something they’re not, the one that leaves me with an image in my brain or a question to scratch my brain over. The ones that know what they’re about, and aren’t afraid to let you see a little bit of what’s on the inside.
So don’t write to prove a point (that’s just another face of writing scared), write to learn the lesson.
If you want to learn about writing, follow Emma Darwin (she’s a novelist who teaches creative writing, and probably a lot more).
If you want blog posts that make your head explode, follow Faith Barr (she’s a young lady with a passion for God, and for people, and is totally epic).
Or you could just learn to write scared. (Remember: boundaries, then details, then lesson.)
With thanks to @RoyMathison for the inspiration