Tuesday, June 9, 2026

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The High School Hallways of the Blank Page

Writing a book is like walking into high school all over again.

You find yourself standing there, the awkward freshman in a sea of total uncertainty, gripping your notebook like a shield. You look around, and everyone else seems like an upperclassman who has it completely together. They know where their classes are, they navigate the halls with effortless grace, and they look pristine. Meanwhile, you’re just trying not to get shoved into a metaphorical locker by your own self-doubt, or crawl into a locker and slam the door on the next four years of  HELL.

Back in the day, when freshman angst hit, you’d usually take it out by Clearasiling the absolute hell out of that one wayward zit.

Now, lucky me, I never really got zits as a kid. And as it turns out, because I’ve been swabbing my face with collagen since the age of 15, wrinkles don’t seem to be in my future either. I’ve gone through menopause and my skin has honestly never looked better. And yes, if we are being completely honest, I’ve never looked hotter. Just check out my profile picture, it's all me. A beautiful result of soaking my face in collagen for the past 40 years.

But I digress. Ah, yes. Writing a book.

Stripping Away the Armor

The real angst of writing isn't about fitting in; it's about the sheer, terrifying vulnerability of putting yourself out there.

It’s one thing to weave a story out of thin air, to build characters and worlds where you can hide behind prose. It is an entirely different beast when you strip away the armor and decide to write about the one thing you have spent a lifetime hiding: YOU.

When you write your own truth, there are no fictional walls to protect you. You are exposing the raw, unedited pieces of your history, your fears, and the roles people expected you to play. It feels like standing in the middle of a crowded cafeteria while your deepest secrets are broadcast over the PA system.

But just like surviving high school, the only way out is through. You have to face the hallway, ignore the whispering voices of imposter syndrome, and keep walking. Because the world doesn't need another polished, perfectly generic story—it needs the real, raw, beautifully uncovered truth that only you can tell.

Anyway, bye for now! 



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