Quieting the Inner Critic (otherwise known as the Bitch who lives in my head)

I’m new at this blogging thing.  Now I know how my dad felt when the personal computer came along.  “Newfangled things, who needs ‘em.”  I don’t think he’s ever sent an email in his life.  He uses his PC like a fancy typewriter, carefully tapping out letters and then sending them to print.  He’s not quite sure why he needs a computer, but everyone else is using them, so — why not.  He’ll give it a shot.  The good ole college try, as my dad likes to say.

I approached blogging in the same tentative fashion.  I hesitantly typed out a few sentences, then sat and sneered at the screen.  “Not good enough.”  Those words reverberated through my skull, slowly getting louder.  “Not good enough.  Not Good Enough.  NOT GOOD ENOUGH.”  The story of my life.

But wait a minute.  Wait just a damn minute.  I AM good enough at writing.  I love to write.  Sometimes the words seem to pour from my fingertips, like a live electric current is flowing from my brain through my fingers to the screen.  Thoughts and ideas crowd in on me, clamoring to be set free.  The medium, my keyboard.

But there are those other times when I sit, staring glumly into space, at a loss for inspiration.  Then that bitter, hateful voice starts up.  The Bitch who lives in my head.  “Who do you think you’re kidding?  A writer… paugh!  Stick to your day job, kid, you’ll never make it.  They’ll laugh at you.”

If I persist in forging ahead, the voice gets louder, meaner.  “You’re terrible at this.”  The sweat starts beading at my forehead, sliding down the back of my neck.  “You’ll never be good enough.  Just like everything else you’ve ever tried, you’re going to fail.  Do you hear me!  Are you listening?!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble.  “I hear you.”  Then I spin around in my chair and shout at the empty, malevolent air around me.  “Now shut the hell up!”  A peeved silence settles around me.  She’s sulking, but I don’t care.  As long as she leaves me alone for a little while… that’s all I need, just a few minutes to commune with my HP, to jot down those precious ideas before they ebb away.  I just have to keep trying… and not let the Bitch win.

Ugly duckling no more.

So you might be wondering what happened next.  Simple, really.  I started writing.  And writing.  And I liked what I was writing.  And others liked what I was writing.  And I was having fun doing it.

Then I got one of those moments of clarity when I realized that I was good at this.  Finally, good at something.  My mom is Suzie Homemaker.  She can cook, bake, sew, and knit, and can make gorgeous stained glass windows of every size and description.  She masters anything she’s ever turned her hand to.  I, on the other hand, am the ugly duckling in a family full of creativity.  I can’t even cut a straight line with a pair of scissors.  I’m housekeeping-challenged.  Every article of clothing I’ve ever tried to wash has shrunk and/or turned pink.  My daughter’s Barbies have been very well dressed.  I’ve been banished from the kitchen for years, although I am allowed to do the dishes if I’ve been especially good.  So I was rather excited to discover that I had a talent, for anything.  And that talent seems to be for writing.  How cool is that.

Hello world!

My name is Monique Happy and I love to write.

I recently rediscovered my love for writing when I sorta accidentally signed up for a Creative Writing class at the local community college.  I was there to sign up for general education classes and a handfull of law classes to obtain my AA degree and paralegal certificate.  While perusing the catalog, I stumbled across the Creative Writing class.  I thought to myself, as if hugging a secret treasure to my chest, “this is for me.  The other classes are for my career, to help support my family, but this one class, this one’s for me.”

And it was wonderful.