Yikes, the voice in my head!
Hooz Talking?
Every creative I know struggles with it. The voice. The voice that says, this is shit. Who do I think I am? That I could write a poem, paint a picture, string some chords together into a tune? I mean, who do I think I am?
The voice.
It wants me to hide under a bushel. Stay dark. Pretend all that creative juice bubbling up from my gut is meaningless. Irrelevant. In fact, downright stupid. I never knew the voice other than my own rambling thoughts. Until I gave it a name.
Otto.
Do you have an Otto living in you? Would you give him/her/it/they/them a name? If you could catch your Otto by the scruff of the neck, and look him straight in the eye, what would you tell him? Would you growl? Would you spit?
Would you be kind?
No, Otto isn't keen that I'm talking to you about this. In fact, he’s downright pissed. He'll do everything in his power to kill this idea before it begins.
So it's game on Mr. Otto. You and me. The cat is out of the bag.
Let's expose this culprit together. If we're going to write, sing, paint, play the piano, cook a gourmet meal - jeez - even have a meaningful conversation, Otto has to go!
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