An attempt at finishing the book

I do this not out of free will but a fear that there is no other way.

The book has refused to finish. I picked up too many threads and now they lie scattered on the floor. Tying them takes work, but before work it takes clarity: is this an illustrated comic, a creative memoir, or some weird amalgamation that fits no genre?

Clarity can’t be forced. It balloons into empty space. But first the thoughts have to come out, and if I puke them into a random corner of my journal they only make more mess. So: labelled, dated, concluded. I don’t want to trip over the same loose ends of my thoughts again next week.

But to push them out on social media is simply not an option. I am here to admit that I am scared of showing my work on social media. Not just on Instagram - they wear different masks but are all Instagrams underneath. I am scared of being seen and not liked, seen and laughed at, and worst of all, seen and ignored.

So here I am instead, in my corner of the internet, behind the blinds, hoping no one walks in.