Scribbled on 27th July 2016
Author Me: Oh, look who’s come after so many days — finally here to warm the seat.
Me: That’s unkind, you accomplished writer. You know I’ve been going through some tough times, you critical git.
Younger Me: Wheee! What tough time, my dears? I’m having the time of my life — and there’s going to be a book on the table by the end of the year.
Me & Author Me: Ah…
Me: Sweetie, youth is a sweet thing. But don’t you don’t see, doubt and fear will soon work their way in? They’ll cut you to pieces.
Author Me: Oh she’s just a child, you raving dolt! Quit pissing on her sunny land! If you call your procrastination depression and your empty page a fear — my dear — you’re just a proper asshat.
Me: I’ll fry you in butter for all that shocking language and squeeze back in all the fat you’ve lost.
Young Me: Ha!
Me: Fear of failure is paralyzing — surely don’t you understand that?
Author Me: Look at the popping veins in my hand. Look at the ink marks on my fingers. Talent and passion are useless without application — you know something doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be heartfelt.
Me: That flew over my head.
Author Me: Look at the brightness of your younger self.
Young Me: Who me?
Author Me: Look at her infectious enthusiasm! The little clot can barely write a paragraph unfettered with purple prose, yet she loves the art.
Me: I know that’s true. I’ve grown loads better, haven’t I?
Author Me: Yes, exactly. I want you to know that. If you mope and cry, then start all to late — GAH! You know it’ll be hard for me to write with an old twig of a hand.
Young Me: Hey quit insulting me, you girls! You’ve no idea just how well I write!
Me: Yeah — but right now, just even as I write this, this feeling courses through me that what I write now is still not good enough.
Author Me: Jesus!
Young Me: Bazooks!
Author Me: Someone shove a brain up that girl.
Young Me: If you don’t believe in yourself, who else will?
Author Me: Oh, don’t bother explaining inspiration to her. She’ll still be a pig headed git.
Young Me: You need to write…
Author Me: To free yourself and let out your soul on paper.
Young Me: Of course, everyone likes writing when it’s fast and flowy and almost too hot to handle.
Author Me: But far too often, that silly muse guy will not show up to help.
Young Me: What did Maya Angelou say after all? Shizazzi pizazzi, I feel so inexperienced.
Author Me: Show up, show up — and the muse will too.
Me: So I just really gotta show up?
Author Me & Young Me: She gets it — YIPPEE!
Me: Well, enough inspiration for me. I’m kinda curious how life looks for you, older Vandini.
Author Me: So has teenage hood quietened that crazy dreamer mind? Well I’m an optimist — but what really are your hopes for me?
Me: Go around the world. Punch a cat caller in the gut?
Author Me: Still a flippin’ feminist I see!
Me: Speak at the UN, serve the world, do amazing stuff other than writing too?
Author Me: Get to the damn writing already.
Me: You don’t have to pen many books. I just want them to be rich and profound that heal people worldwide. It’d be so cool to reach the top global circles! Erm, and go to talk shows and help the aspiring? What else do you grown up writers hang around doing? But my biggest hope is —
Author Me: Gah, here it comes.
Me: That you still love writing.
Author Me: Well done kiddo! I knew your heart was this the right place. I have some advice for you too.
Me: “Gah, here it comes.” I’m beginning to enjoy this, tho.
Author Me: So —
Young Me: HOLD UP — just because I’m history you forget about me?
Me: Dry your tears, build a bridge and walk over all those watery sobs. Seriously, don’t be such an impatient brat, Vanni!
Young Me: Dang it. Why do you think I’m an immature clot?
Author Me: We don’t, sweetie. She’s just a mean old girl.
Author Me: Now will you two shut up already?
Young Me & Me: Fine.
Author Me: I want you to write, write and write.
Me: Whoa, original.
Young Me: Such advice 30 years on! Brilliant, really.
Author Me: Shut your pie holes. That’s the most important part you inexperienced, grateful bunch.
Young Me: Oh no, she’s heading for the monologue.
Author Me: I know you both have had bad days. You’re 14 today, Vanni. Every time a New Year comes, you step out on the cool balcony and look up at the firework lit sky. And you promise the breeze, yourself and God above — that you’ll do better.
I need you to remember that no matter how bad it seems, how off it looks — writing words still makes you better off than the guilt ridden girl watching YouTube on the couch.
Script add-in for 14 year old Vanni from me now:
Me: Thank you older me. But I do feel frozen up and scared so often.
Young Me: Huh, what’re those fascinating emotions?
Me: Sometimes it feels like everything in my life will go wrong if I can’t write right.
Young Me: Sheesh, that got depressing.
Author Me: You don’t see it yet, my girl. But your worth transcends being a writer so much. There will come a day when you begin to know all of you — bright and dazzling, and just flipping awesome.
Young Me: I want to meet her!
Author Me: There’s so much more still undiscovered within you to offer to the universe. That fear’s going to fly.
Author Me: I promise you.
I give you a virtual hug for your slice of time. Yes, you curled up reading there with the screen’s glow on your face! If you enjoyed this, please follow my Medium blog: Lift You. I’m grateful to Writer’s Co-operative for the privilege to write for them.
Also — I’d just really love to hear how you felt. It’d make my day, so would you gift a minute commenting to me?