I feel silenced.
No matter what I say or how I say it, my words are not going to make a difference. I cannot change anyone’s mind and I cannot show anyone else this light that is so clearly blinding me.
The world has changed. Everything feels urgent all the time. We are called upon to react instantaneously to every update that has been made. That reaction must be outrage or elation but there is no room for anything in the middle. We are all afraid that if we do not react quickly and with enough ferocity that all the goodness or all the awfulness will spiral out of our reach.
There is so much content out there and some how everything sounds the same. I find myself moving from news site to news site in the hopes of learning something new, or just finding the right fact to confirm all of my beliefs. It is an addiction and an obsession and I know I would be happier if I could just shut it all out.
But, I have a deeply held belief that I know what is right and that if everyone was exposed to the same information that I am then they would come around to see things the way that I do.
Yet, I rarely bring myself to click the share button. Not when every post to Facebook feels like a confrontation. I don’t want to alienate or defriend or contribute to this environment that has become toxic.
I have lots of friends that share their viewpoints and I admire their courage. I wonder if they believe more strongly than I do, or if I am just a coward.
But things have changed and I have reached a breaking point. As a writer, feeling silenced and voiceless is like feeling dead and I know that this is a great time to be alive.
I have come back to my old blog in the hopes of finding my voice again and pushing myself to speak when I would rather be silent.
My whole life, I have wanted to write fiction, yet I have surprisingly little to show for it. So each week, here, I will be posting short pieces of flash fiction. They will all be inspired by that week’s news or other topics of the day. I reserve the right to change this format at any time and to pop my real voice in from time to time.
Every time something bad happens, I feel compelled to write. I think that when the words pour out of me, so must all of the bad feelings. That sentiment is wrong, but creating something good, even in the face of all of this insanity is right.