Why you should keep writing

Or: The allegory of the beast

There’s a powerful beast living in your house. It’s got a sleek white body striped with black—a fierce kind of beautiful, unique of its kind. It leads a solitary existence in a file named “Work-in-progress.” And all it wants is to break free and see the world. 

You there, keeper of the beast. You know it isn’t ready yet. It’s still young, has some growing to do. It hasn’t learned to master its powers. And bringing up the beast is challenging the say the least. Sometimes it’s as unruly as a puppy, tracking mud all over, leaving an indecipherable mess in its wake. Sometimes it’s as stubborn as a pig: when it isn’t in the mood, getting it to move forward is impossible. You might be starting to think it’d be easier to keep the beast penned up indefinitely. 

And yet... 

And yet, there are no two ways about it. That beast simply needs to come out. It’s a social animal by nature, calling to be seen by many eyes, touched by many hands. That beast! A little rough around the edges to be sure, but already a sight to behold. Like a zebra, so dashing, so startlingly bold. The beast’s great powers—if harnessed—will be to tease and delight in equal measure, to unseat its audiences and carry them, gasping and grinning, through fields unfamiliar, territories of their dreams, old homes they forgot they knew.

And all it needs, the beast, is the steady hand of its keeper. A pledge to care for it, week after week, to groom it and feed it (even on tired days), to see it through shy phases and growth spurts and adolescent rebellions. 

Because one fine day, when it’s matured and well groomed—thanks to you—it’ll canter off into the world, calling forward eager riders, and do what it’s meant to do.

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