Reality

There's a very strange irony that surrounds my "Introvert" pieces. I write them; I post them online. I have a link to my deviantArt profile on my facebook page. But somehow... I don't really expect people to read them.

Yes, I know that technically my followers here are "people", but you're people from Ireland. America. Europe. Australia. South America. Canada. It'd be great to meet you guys, but I doubt I ever will. By "people", I mean those I actually know and hang out with outside the internet. Most of my "real life" friends don't dig through my account here. Frankly, I doubt that they even dig through my account on facebook!

So it was a bit of a shock to have one of said friends walk up to me and start talking about my last piece, Soul Stealer. I've been wondering ever since... how much of my work has he read?

Let me first say that there are several extenuating circumstances. The friend in question is very likely reading this piece as well, since he's a writer/ artist/ musician with his own profile here and watches my account as I do his (if you're reading.. hi there!). He always reminds me of Eleanor Roosevelt when she said that "great minds discuss ideas." This particular friend has one of the greatest minds I know.

Having him possibly read these is a little... unnerving. And, unlike what the previous paragraph may have led you to think, it has nothing to do with his mind.

In an earlier piece, I described my writing as a scream in a self-imposed silence. It's my shout into the darkness. Can you blame me for being terrified that the darkness turns out to have a face I know and a voice to answer?

So... to the point of this piece. I've spent days wondering if I should keep writing these. Should I write, knowing that next time I see any of my friends, I'll be wondering if they've read my latest outpouring and just haven't said anything? Should I share it like this, knowing that in doing so I'm opening myself up in ways I somehow had not foreseen?

I know you guys enjoy these when I do post them... but I've realised something important. Something that I suspected before, that I run from quite a lot, but at times this something grabs me by the shoulder, spins me round and forces me to see the truth.



I'm a coward.


But am I so cowardly that I'll silence my voice?

I guess only time will tell.