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When You Lose Your Ability to Write, Continue Writing
But this time, give yourself permission to write badly.
Everything is content nowadays. Literally everything, even your insecurities, misfortunes, and traumas. There’s a reason for that.
Turning your insecurities into content implies vulnerability, which apparently is one of the best traits you can have as a writer. By being vulnerable, it becomes easier for readers to see you as a human being, and therefore resonate with your work.
But there’s a catch: Vulnerable writing is a delicate art.
Some people have mastered that art and became successful writers. And thus, their calling their insecurities “content” is now justified. Others are not so lucky and got labeled as drama queens or attention whores instead.
Honestly, that latter prospect scares me. Perhaps that’s why, as a writer, I’m still not able to fully embrace my vulnerability. The internet can be a cruel place, and I’m afraid of showing my wounds, lest some trolls aggravate them.
However, I’m currently rethinking that stance.
In fact, I’ll start here by sharing my most recent predicament:
I, albeit briefly, lost my ability to write.
