Confession

I've resisted the overt desire to change the last sentence in my previous entry because of fear it somehow begged for compliments. When it was just a sentence to a long vent. Or maybe that should read, delete an entire paragraph. Or possibly I just feel overwhelmed by the comments left.  Because just as a comfort level of no longer dismissing my personal thoughts settles in, the age old unease of acceptance of praise, over comes my within.
       I've taken the time to explore enough female makeup to understand that we, on a general dimension, find it easier to accept the negative. We take it, package it up, and place it in that room inside us, as an arsenal of defense when faced with accepting a positive. Praise of my writing here on my journal, has brought smiles to my face, confirmation in my mind, and kicked open the doors of the arsenal of weapons.
       Impressionable. That was me. I have no formal writing experience, never had a forum of opinion to discuss my writing except once. However significant or insignificant this time was, it made an impression. Even writing this I can see where it may fall, but for the moment I must.
       Creative writing class in High School. One of my most impressionable times in my life. I thought, with exhilaration, this would be a place for me. But I was meet with a teacher who had guidelines, who had a formula, that did not fall into my writing style I guess. I consistently received a meager B in his class. For basically a straight A student who loved nothing more then writing, this was perplexing, frustrating and discouraging.
       At time's I would receive an A for content, and a F for grammar, spelling, punctuation. <This was a time computers were never used> eking out a mere B if I was lucky. At time's I would receive an F for writing content, he would say, "You strayed way to far away from the guidelines." I would sit in his class and hear the praise of another writer he adored and listen to him read their paper that I thought was stoic, rehearsed and uninteresting. Honestly, I thought I must be whacko, for my writing did not fit his world, but he was the writing teacher! I had thought it was creative writing, but it wasn't. I fought back, I really did, but ultimately he won, him and his guidelines, I transferred out, and protectedmy writing in privacy.
       So since then, this has been my first public display of the written word, my journal. So when I read compliments I find myself stricken with his words, his opinion. And I know of course he was just one person, and I'm really trying to kick that door closed again. I thank all for your opinions, came to cherish them actually. A bandaide of sorts for the damage done once to someone so impressionable. So this is my first attempt to overcome those fears and accept without internal revolt your opinions.
       Picture this, your someone that has always had no more then 10 bucks in your pocket, and someone hands you a million dollars.......overwhelmed is a good description right? Thankful, appreciative, awe struck, but overwhelmed. And that my dear friends is how I feel.
Like the beautiful and talented Jazz would say...........

Thank you from where it counts!!!