I absolutely love writing. Since early childhood, I have felt lost if I go even a week without penning some type of story or poem. I have stacks of neatly bound journals, spare notebook pages, and even napkins, all smelling of inky prose and all hidden away long ago. You see, I am undeniably a writer, but I am a writer without readers. Quite often, the thought of somebody seeing my work makes me want to blind myself with my trusty pen.
I suppose I don't even really want anybody to read this, but here I am publishing it on the Internet for all to view. Even though it certainly isn't comfortable or fun, I'm writing this for everyone who feels the same. For everyone who feels dread and embarrassment when they share their poetry with a close friend. For everyone who writes a simple, generic essay in their English class because it's just so much easier than sharing that deeper part of themselves.
I've been there, and I still am there in a way. Even after several published works, I still hide some of my favorite writings due to the all too familiar writer's anxiety. I avoid submitting works, I don't let my friends read them, and sometimes I just don't write them at all because I'm afraid they will be terrible. IF I decide to submit a writing, then I make an effort to find a publication far from anyone I know, and I most definitely do not share my success with anyone.
It's a strange thing to want to have great writings but never want anyone to see them. My acceptance of my literary style and my abilities are still a work in progress, and I presume they will always be. It would be hypocritical of me to tell my fellow sufferers of writer's anxiety to simply share their works and choose not to care. I won't do that. What I will tell you to do is never stop writing. That practice is invaluable, and you may even break that cycle of secret with the perfect work that you penned on the back of an old and tattered envelope. Every writer should always remember that even if you hide, delete, or burn it afterwards, never stop creating.