Trust

I gave him the link and he sat down and began reading as soon as I left the room. When I returned, the only reaction I heard was his suggestion that I shouldn't write everyday if I wanted to really hone my skills. I sucked in a breath of air and tried to cover the ears of the little writer inside of me, but it was too late. He went on to explain himself and the logic was there, but that initial blow had been all the little writer had heard. And just like that, she packed up her bags and fled, stone-faced.

Whenever I would call upon her for our bonding time to write our blog, she'd refuse. And each time she refused, I was filled with a nauseous guilt so acrid, that I, too, would lose all desire for our once cherished daily rendezvous.

Until his comment, I had been more than content using this little space as uniquely my own, to express whatever my little writer and I so desired. But suddenly it all seemed so self-indulgent and, ultimately, lackluster. So, I started trying to think of ways to make it different... to make it worthy... to make it something somebody like him would take seriously.

True, I'd never read his writing, except in the form of emails and text messages, but I was certain I would never have anything so negative to say about it. This, I would later realize, spoke volumes about me and would have nothing whatsoever to do with the quality of his writing. Unsolicited opinions and advice are something that can only be shared once trust has been properly established, otherwise even the humblest of good-willed comments can come across as outright haughty and be detrimentally internalized.

A week later and still no writing, a serendipitous opportunity presented itself in the form of a semi-private photoshoot for a new magazine geared towards young wanderlust and jet-set women. The two girls there and I began taking about writing and blogs, and it was ultimately brought up that Madrid blogs were really in demand at on the magazine's website. I jumped to tell them that I would love to have mine be one of their promoted blogs, but the little writer inside of me quickly hushed me. "Our blog's not for other people to read. That's obviously been proven. We barely say anything interesting, really."

The little writer's comment stung me just as his had stung her, and I recoiled. I vowed not to write in my blog until I had a plan to make more "appealing." Of course, plenty of ideas came, but with each one came a grey shiver of doubt, and I continued to use my iPad to play spider solitaire and watch The Big Bang Theory, rather than to actually write. Each day the shame grew.

Still unable to face my blog, but knowing that I couldn't stay sane much longer without writing, I purchased a green notebook at a corner store. I decorated it with floral fabric tape, put a picture on the front of a lady from an catalogue from the boutique down the street, and searched Pinterest for hours until I found the perfect quote to write alongside the image. I placed the four markers - pink, green, aqua and black - I had bought next to the notebook and presented it to my little writer as a peace offering.

"The pages within this notebook," I whispered to her, "are for our eyes only. Nobody else shall ever be permitted to look inside unless I've expressly requested your permission beforehand. With these four markers, you are safe to express even the tiniest of thoughts without fear of judgement. As I am your biggest fan, and as I will be this notebook's sole audience, you can count on the reactions to your work being nothing short of awe."

The little writer's nose twitched as she smelled the fresh notebook. Slowly, she peeked her head around the corner and peered at the handmade artwork on the cover and the four virgin markers lined up, begging to be opened and permitted to dance along the college-ruled lines. She looked side to side anxiously, then suddenly made a beeline for the notebook and pens. She struggled a bit to pick them up, as they were bigger than she was, but her determination was evident and she managed to quickly drag everything back to where she'd been sitting.

For the next hour I sat there, listening to tops popping on and off markers, ink scribbling all over the pages and the little writer joyfully humming and giggling to herself as she worked. A soft "thwoop" of the cover closing came just as the light from the setting sun flooded the room. When my eyes adjusted, I looked down and saw the little writer right in front of me. With a cute self-satisfied, yet playful grin on her face, she stood on her tippytoes and streched her arms to hold the notebook up to me.

I giggled at her and gently took it, surprised she was even letting me see what she'd written after how I'd let things get between us the past two weeks. I opened to the first page and began reading.

Moments later when I finished, she was sitting right there on the couch, looking up at me with big eyes. I glanced at her, and then back to the page. My chest rose as I took an audibly deep breath. I looked her right in the eyes then, and with all the sincerity in the world said it gently:

"That was incredible."

Her grin became toothy and she replied, "Yeah, I know. Don't doubt us again, 'kay?"

<3