I woke in terror when I was twelve knowing that some day I would die. 
My mother was in the hospital being mis-treated for severe suicidal bi-polar disorder. My dad was downstairs in the living-room. I ran down the stairs and sat next to him. He looked up from Life magazine – no irony intended here, just the details. “Dad,” I said, “I’m going to die some day.” I believed he could make the knowledge go away. “Oh Liz,” he said, “you know what the priests tell us.” In that instant, not only mortality but my absolute trust in my father disappeared.
I found this today in my daily Word-A-Day message and thought about that moment, the moment that rocketed me into reluctant adulthood. It’s like, at the end, there’s this surprise quiz: Am I proud of me? I gave my life to become the person I am right now. Was it worth what I paid? -Richard Bach, writer (b. 23 Jun 1936)
Was it worth what I paid? At your end, will you wonder what you might have written had you been willing to pay the hard hard dues of writing? Please write us. I’ll publish your words next week.
Here, in response to a recent Breakthrough Tip: Dear Mary, I gave a try to the R-virus treatment. I found I cannot seduce it because I’m too angry. Below is my exchange of letters. My dearest, darling R, You have been around for the longest time – I cannot imagine writing without the feeling that you are right behind me, watching my every move. You have made me chuck away countless pieces of paper. You have made me delete entire sentences and paragraphs. You make me feel small. I want to know why. My life hasn’t been one of rejections. I have always been encouraged to do my best, to keep going, but never forced or pushed to do things I was comfortable with. My family and friends never judged me. My teachers and employers were for the most part helpful human beings who believed I could be my best self. This has never been enough. You always come hand in hand with your pals, the C-virus and the P-virus. I don’t want to send this in because it won’t be Perfect. I don’t want to send this in because I keep Comparing myself to others and they are always better, more Perfect. The fear of being told I’m not good enough – when others are – is paralysing. You know it, and you keep hovering over my shoulder, making me tear the page off the notebook, delete my file, go back to square one, tell myself this is all pointless and a waste of time. I am tired of this tug of war. I want to write and not think of what comes after. Yours, unfortunately, Dana Dearest Dana, Don’t blame me for something you do to yourself. Who asks you to compare yourself to other people? You’re not them and they’re not you. Your words are yours only. I reckon you should only write if you have something worthy to say. Something different. So many people vomit words into the world – there isn’t enough time (or will) to read them all! There’s a lot of repetition out there. Only the ones who differentiate themselves from others excel. You need to try harder if you want to impress the people who matter. And I beg to disagree – fear of what comes after helps you focus and do a better job. I’ll be around. R Dear R, I have always compared myself to others. It should help me strive for perfection (there it goes again, the P-virus) but most of the time it just makes me feel crap. Why can’t I be like them? Why does it take me so long to write a draft? And what’s the point, if after all that work, energy and insomnia I don’t even get it right? I’m not going to be a unique writer, I know that, but I want to be able to do it anyway. You and your cronies keep stopping me. Can I ask you to move aside for a bit? Can I just be myself and do the best I can? I don’t want distractions. The other day I wrote something that made someone laugh. That should have been a positive, a little nice push. But it wasn’t. I go on questioning my latest travel contribution and procrastinating when it comes to my next assignment. I am terrified of the feedback. They won’t like it. Nobody will read it. My text will sit there, incomplete and imperfect. I would love to be spontaneous and write what I feel and then boom! Off it goes. My revisions take lifetimes. I am asking you for answers even though I know you don’t have them and you simply don’t care. I should be able to walk away and block you out. Yours, unwillingly, Dana Dearest Dana, I’m not planning to abandon you. I’m here to stay. There is no walking away or blocking me. You need me to keep you grounded, to stop you from thinking too much of yourself. You’re a learner. R Dear R, I am indeed a learner. I enjoy learning but want the result of my learning to be more than satisfactory. And I want it to happen quickly, painlessly, with no rejection and no negativity. I know this is unrealistic. My therapist used to tell me: “You know exactly what your issues are, you have no problem identifying them. What you need to do is to embrace them, reflect on them and then tackle them”. Dearest R, I can hear you breathing but I’m writing anyway. And I’m going to send this, no matter what you think of me. Yours, reluctantly, Dana
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