Once again, it's time to gather around the blogosphere campfire and share our stories of insecurity for this month's Insecure Writer's Support Group. The Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh is the one who first called us to gather on this, the first Wednesday of every month. And so, each month, we return to this place and let loose our frustrations so that they may not strangle us. The esteemed co-hosts for this month are Misha Gericke and Joylene Nowell Butler.
This month, I've been wondering if my difficulties with relating to people may work against me. I've always been awkward. I was an awkward child, and I'm an awkward adult. Granted, I do better as an awkward adult. I have friends who don't worry about being judged for being my friend. I have a husband who understands my awkwardness and, for some reason, finds it attractive.
Still, awkwardness makes me question my writing sometimes.
The things most of the people I know enjoy doing don't even remotely appeal to me a lot of the time. I know so many people who enjoy decorating, and I do enjoy a nicely decorated space. However, I fear I don't have the visual intelligence to decorate a home, and when I'm doing things like painting and moving furniture around, I keep thinking that I'd rather be writing. If I have an old winter coat that isn't completely falling apart, I'll choose buying new books over a new winter coat. (When it comes to my kids, however, I'll buy them the coat. I make sure they have what they need.)
I, who get my hair done once every five years and have never had my nails done because I don't see the point on spending money on such things, am not typical. Most of the people who will potentially read my words have little in common with me. Why should they listen to what I have to say? How can I relate to them?
Luckily, as humans we seem to have a common core of emotion. We feel love, we feel pain, we feel hope, we feel loss. I hope I can adequately tap into those common feelings and draw in readers who may not be able to relate to me in other ways.
Maybe all of us writers are strange in our own way. Am I the only person who feels awkward? Is that awkwardness conducive to writing, or can it be a hindrance?