I was listening to someone on a channel I follow. She was talking about moving over to Substack.
I had no idea what that was or what it was for. Apparently, “everyone” is moving their content THERE.
Just as folk flocked to this platform, to that platform, to whatever platform was popular.
I looked up some videos. I became excited about another way to Express myself in a deeper way, or so I told myself.
I imagined reimagining myself there. I planned a wondrous entrance. One in which I proclaimed to the world:
“I’M HERE! HERE ME ROAR!!”
“RRRRRROOOOOOOOOOAAAARRR”
I daydreamed. Of all the heart connections I could possibly make. Of all the lives I could possibly touch. Of all the different topics I could/would discuss.
THIS would be my chance to expose my writing skills! This would be my chance to PROVE, finally, that I COULD write.
This thought, beloveds, began to intimidate me….yikes.
REAL writers would see MY work!!?😳 How could I possibly be my crazy, weird, making up crazy word self there and be respected, as a writer, still?!
Then, I planned some pieces. Surely, I would have to stop calling folk “beloveds”. Surely, I would have to stop saying “folk” in my pieces.
Surely, I would have to conform to a more structured form. I would HAVE to be more mindful of comma usage/placement!!
I would have to stop saying things like “thangs”. I would certainly HAVE to stop saying “Heckamiah Jeremiah” from time to time.
I would have to water down my “spiritual side”, so as not to scare REAL readers/writers.
I would have to write seriously at ALL times.
That was last night. I found the writing police had pulled me over, snatched me from the clouds, tossing me painfully back to earth.
Chastened, I woke. I came here. Forlorn, I stalked passed the notification that I had posted for 634 consecutive days.
Sad, I told myself to stay on THIS platform. I could do what I could in my SMALL way. Who would/was listening anywho?
Who but my peeps, here, would care about me, over there.
In the midst of my anxt/lament, The Universe happened by and asked what was wrong.
I said I was sad I would have to dim my light, over there, in order to prove that I was a REAL writer.
The Universe: You have been writing here for five years. You have been writing for most of your life.
Me: Yea, but none of THAT has been REAL writing among REAL writers.
The Universe: What makes a writer REAL? In fact, what makes a writer a writer? Is it the audience?
Me: Well, no.
The Universe: What then?
Me: Writer’s write.
The Universe: Have you been writing?
Me: Well, yea.
The Universe: Nuff said.
Me: K.
Beloveds, YOU are the platform. YOU are the most important ingredient in your equation.
YOUR voice.
YOUR way.
Keep on being YOU no matter where you go. You do NOT need anyone to validate your gifts and talents. They are yours.
Now, those gifts and talents may not be everyone’s cup of tea. We may not, we shall not be loved and valued by everyone.
That’s okay. Our tribe is out there. One of my tribes is HERE. NOW. Writing MY way. Loving MY way. Caring MY way. That’s what life is about, eh?
Don’t let doubt lie to you. Keep moving FORWARD. Keep branching out. Keep trying new platforms and ways of being.
Be encouraged. Have an amazing rest of today. I love you.
asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: Do what you do. Be who you are. I AM a writer! How do I KNOW, beloveds? Because, I write.
Whether I am a GOOD writer is a completely different question on a different day. You will have to tell me.🥰🤣😎😳
One step.
One step.
One step.
You are loved.
You are NOT alone.
Keep on being…YOU!
- COME SIT AT MY TABLE 🪑❤️🩹
- BELOVEDS, YOU CAN HAVE MY FLOWERS. I DON’T NEED THEM ANYMORE.
- Forgive them, Cassandra, God said to me
- Still In Love
- REAL TALK: DESPISE NOT SMALL BEGINNINGS, BELOVEDS.👘🦺🥾👟🥿👞🩴👢🩰👡⛑️🔌🕯️🔎🖌️🖋️📢
Why Can't I Be Loud?! 