The first line is hard.
I have a voice in my head that's sole purpose is remind me of all those doubts and how things could go wrong. I call it the anti-me. The anti-me is jealous when I want to be happy for other, mean when I want to be nice and rains over my parade even after I accomplish something to be proud of. This same voice ignores rationality so it's not my sub-conscious being cautious.
It told me that a coat in the dark was a face, that the wind was something howling for my five-year-old blood. It seems to thrive on making me hate myself and everything I write. If I could shut it up by punching my face, I'd take the black eye.
I know better now. Most of the time I don't even register the little nag whining away. The exception seems to be when writing first lines. That's why it'll be the last thing I do with this one. (Even though I am writing down 'maybe' first lines)
Are the times when the anti-you gets too loud to ignore?
It told me that a coat in the dark was a face, that the wind was something howling for my five-year-old blood. It seems to thrive on making me hate myself and everything I write. If I could shut it up by punching my face, I'd take the black eye.
I know better now. Most of the time I don't even register the little nag whining away. The exception seems to be when writing first lines. That's why it'll be the last thing I do with this one. (Even though I am writing down 'maybe' first lines)
Are the times when the anti-you gets too loud to ignore?
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