Bipolar –  Mrs. Sherlock Holmes

6357405020812055051488693726_anxiety-charlie-brown“A single electric bulb looped down from the uneven ceiling. It sparked hot white. A man with dark features stepped into the bright circle below it, which lit up a scar near his left eye.” Mrs. Sherlock Homes, by Brad Ricca

I was looking for something to read at Barnes & Noble today while I was waiting for my dog Bailey to be groomed today when I found the book I just mentioned. I read the first sentence and I was hooked. “A single electric bulb looped down from the uneven ceiling.” In some way, it struck a chord with me and I was hooked. I had to read the rest of the book. I haven’t read it yet, but I’m planning on it. I just have my daughter’s wedding rehearsal tonight at 6:00, counseling tomorrow at 1:00 and the wedding itself Saturday at 1:00. School doesn’t start till Monday. I should have time to at least get started on it.

Then I remember that I’m taking two literature classes this quarter and I realize buying more to read right now might not have been the best idea. But still, I love that sentence…

I’m going to school to learn how to be a writer. That sentence is the kind of sentence I’d like to be able to write. I don’t know, maybe I can already. But, I don’t know, maybe I can’t.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid to try. I’m afraid to try to do something I’ve been studying since high school. I feel inadequate. My anxiety turns my brain to dough and I don’t believe in myself… so I don’t try.

One of the benefits of having gone back to college (and one of the biggest challenges) is that I’m tasked with writing on a regular basis. Last quarter I had Creative Nonfiction in which I had to write creative nonfiction essays. I started out not knowing what one even was. Now, I’ve written three and I passed the class with an A. This quarter I’m taking Introduction to Fiction where I imagine I’ll get the chance to try my hand at writing fiction. I’m paranoid. I don’t know if I can tell a story. What if I can’t think up anything to write?

That first sentence really spoke to me and inspired me to read further and to try my hand at writing my own fiction. But, I’m so afraid…

Classes start Monday. I’m going to have buck up and face my fear. What if I can’t do it?

I got a great grade in Creative Nonfiction. I can do this. I just have to try.

What if I can’t do this? What if I quit? Then I won’t have to expose myself to possible failure. No. Stop.

I’m going to keep going. I’m going to do this.

I can carry on.

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