My drafts are still pixels out of portraits I am trying to draw. And right now when I write, the words evade me. The words won't attach to color. The words wanted depth that I do not have and two posts can't make a backstory.
It has been two published posts since I have joined Substack and already I think it has been affecting me and my writing in some way. In a week, I suddenly became like one of those who can only write about writing (case in point: this post).
Maybe it was not a good idea for me to camp in the Notes feature of Substack, or to see how many subscribers successful ones have, or to read the writings of those who know their words so well.
I am not sure if it is good or bad yet, this Substack.
My most powerful prayer is all I can do for now:
I will find myself in the most optimal of conditions where I am, can be, will be, continuously good enough while achieving heights I never imagined possible.
I am the girl who dreams; I will find myself in my dreams, living it.
How about this, I make my own words just like how I surrendered them.
I read the posts again and thought, the reader meets ego and then soul. That's actually not so bad. It became that way without effort. Good enough in optimal conditions.
It seems I heard my prayer and replied--"Write for yourself and see how it unfolds."