Your Somebody

I was journaling about the sunset one evening - "pink and woolly with long trailing pieces of chiffon, like a moth-eaten, heirloom dress" - when Somebody appeared over my shoulder. Telling me that "moth-eaten" was a stupid word, and that I had no business using "chiffon" when I'd never owned chiffon. So it went.

Writing in Somebody's presence is agonizing. My efforts are stilted - there's the pressure of an audience. Oh, me! I was perfectly happy once, writing by myself.

With Somebody lurking, I understand how folks can develop a distaste for writing. You try to shake Somebody, but Somebody scoots closer in.

You yell, to drown out Somebody's voice. But Somebody laughs and fixes eyes on you and says calmly, "Why are you yelling?" The terrible thing is: Somebody knows all your flaws.

As long as you're thinking of you, Somebody will be there, your little alter ego, your shadow, the mime mirroring your every movement.

Only when you get lost in the story, falling in love with what you're doing, can joy and ease return to your process. Somebody realizes you're not paying attention anymore, and vacates the premises.

Go ahead, ignore Somebody, and write. Nevermind about the chiffon.