Adding a new page -- for good or ill

When I started this little exercise in restrained narcissism, I decided that I wouldn't include my modest collection of stories, essays and poems I'd written over the years.

There were a number of reasons.

Part of it is that some of my past stuff contains adult language, and I was a little concerned about putting it out there -- especially now that I have kids who spend time online. What's more, I don't really approach life the way I used to, and my old writing reflects a world view to which I no longer subscribe.

If I can be honest, I'm also a little fearful of putting copyrighted material online. Intellectual property theft, and all that. Sounds a little self-important, and maybe it is, but I worry about people stealing what I've written.

Then there's the whole "maybe it just isn't very good" thing.

But I came to a conclusion the other day. I can't hide who I used to be any more than I can hide who I am now. So while there is a part of me who is embarrassed and, dare I say, ashamed of the way I conducted my life over a big period of time, it's dishonest to pretend it didn't happen. And, besides, my kids are old enough that they hear far worse in the halls of their school. Of course, I don't want them to ever hear that kind of language in my house -- and they don't. But knowing their dad is able to separate the way he expresses himself now as opposed to when he was younger is something they are mature enough to understand. (Or so I hope ... now I'm second-guessing myself.)

Intellectual property theft? How can you put art out in the public domain without running that risk? I've told myself that because I'm not widely published, I can't rely on a publishing company and their lawyers to protect me. However, there comes a point when you embrace the whole "nothing ventured, nothing gained" mentality and put yourself out there.

Which leads to confronting the very real possibility that the hundreds upon hundreds of pages I've written in journals and on thumb drives isn't of interest to anybody, that folks will read it and say, "Wow, that's bad," or, worse, "Meh." Apathy is worse than disdain, right? Heck, at this point I'd just take ambivalence.

It all comes down to fear, in the end. Fear of what my kids and family and friends will think. Of whether my goal to be a published author is a fool's errand, one I've had since I was old enough to want to be anything. That criticism or the nefarious intentions of anonymous denizens of the Internet will somehow derail it. I'm not one who is overly concerned with what people think of me, but somehow that doesn't apply to my writing.

I'm crippled by fear that I'm not good.

The fact is, I've neglected my goals and hopes and dreams and aspirations. That is a far greater threat to their successful culmination than the collection of red herrings I've conjured in my mind.

And, so, over the next few weeks -- hopefully not months -- I'm going to start uploading the things I've been working on since the late 1990s. (The only exception? The novel that's been in the works for the past two years. I'm saving that one for the day I shop the manuscript and either get accepted or rejected.)

My kids may see it and say, "if dad talked that way, maybe I can, too." A friend at church may see it and wonder just how faithful the guy standing next to him really is. Someone may repurpose the ideas and claim them for their own. Finally, it may not be any good, and someone will tell me that and I'll keep doing what I've been doing for a career up to this point. And that's OK.

But I can't hide behind those excuses anymore.

So here it is: a new page on this humble website, entitled, "prose." I've posted one story already, with more to come. (Including some poetry, which I haven't written for years but, what the heck? Go big or go home.)

Interested? Start here.