Angela Kelsey

And they flew.

Come to the edge.

We might fall.

Come to the edge.

It’s too high!

COME TO THE EDGE!

And they came,

And he pushed,

And they flew.

–Christopher Logue

[Insert sound of needle being dragged across the record.]

How many posts have I written about flying, going to the edge, taking risks, getting out there and telling the truth? Five?  Twenty-five? I can’t bear to look.

For the most part, I stand on the edge and look down.  From time to time, I push myself. I write a post that makes my stomach churn.

But instead of  flying, I claw my way back up the rocks and retreat again away from the edge into book reviews or writing prompts or the nonexistent middle ground of  interesting yet inoffensive.  Then, bored, I edge back to the edge.

But.

Is that all there is?  Really?

If it is, it’s time to pull the plug on my beloved blog.

If it is, and if I do, no one will care.

I pause to see how that feels.

It feels like a knife is being plunged into my chest.

Okay, so I don’t want to pull the plug.

If that’s not all there is, then what is there?  What am I here (both online and off) to do?

I am here to tell my stories and help other people, especially women, tell theirs.  All their stories, especially the ones usually held close in silent shame.

So starting with tomorrow’s post, I’ll begin a series called “What I’m Writing Today.”  I’ll share whatever I’m writing, whether it’s an excerpt from my memoir-in-progress, or my talk-in-progress, or maybe even from my journal or a letter or email.  Who knows?

But each one will be a story, and I want each one to make me feel like the elephant in the photo.

I imagine her stomach’s churning.