Category: Arise Ink

Your alarm is going off.

Writers’ block tries to get at you like hypothermia. You cycle through bouts of determination and frustration until y`ou become lulled into a warm, sleepy complacency and almost convince yourself that you don’t even want to be a writer that badly, and you’re totally fine with sliding through life being a regular person who never suffers from blog anxiety and can enjoy a conversation without pausing to compulsively take notes. Writing is HARD. What kind of lunatic does that to themselves? You just need some rest. You don’t have to live like that…

Except you do. You do have to live like that, because it’s the only way you can live. Your heart beats to the rhythm of clicking keys. You don’t just write; you are a writer. It’s what you are.  As long as the stone cold fear of life passing by unnoticed and undocumented still jerks you awake, you’re going to be ok.

Let’s just get this out of the way.


I always wanted to be a writer. As luck would have it, my life has turned out to be one lesson after another, and someone really should write this stuff down. So many things have stopped me. Isn’t it kind of narcissistic to write about yourself? Many biographies and autobiographies become best-sellers, but they’re almost always about celebrities whose lives have already proven marketable. I’m afraid of being perceived as self-indulgent, trying to elevate my experiences as thought I think everything that’s ever happened to me is a big deal. I know a lot of people…many, many people…loads of them…have had much more meaningful and profound experiences than mine. Others have even had tragic experiences and handled them with infinitely more grace than I could ever muster, coming out stronger, triumphant and doing all kinds of good in the world. They’re more interesting than me, and probably even better people.

Above all, because so many of my experiences are colored by disability, I’m afraid you will:

• Immediately dismiss them because they don’t pertain to you (yet… God forbid!)

• Decide I think the world should cater to my every whim because I deserve it.

• Think I’m indulging self-pity.

• Apply the “angry cripple” stereotype to me, and refuse to give audience to what you perceive to be the chip on my shoulder.

• Make me into a pitiful (gulp) poster child.

• Get a slight case of the warm-fuzzy inspirationals, then not take any sort of action.

Furthermore, because my faith strongly influences many of the things I’ll write about, I fear you will:

• Apply your opinion of general Christianity to me

• Discount the way I demonstrate my spirituality because it doesn’t look like yours.

I bet this looks like I’m desperate for you to like me. I hope you do, but that’s not the case. It’s really that:

• I want you to give me a chance.

• I’m afraid of being the reason you to dismiss or minimize any social issue I write about, because it’s intensely important to me or I wouldn’t have risked it.

• I never want to hurt anyone’s feelings. If you get mad…well, that’s up to you, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.

You probably think I’m insecure, but isn’t it the opposite of that to commit this kind of stuff to print? I’m just keeping it real. Now that I’ve addressed all my neuroses, I’m going to proceed to empty my head. If it resonates with you in any way, let it stick.