You can’t tiptoe boldly or whisper out loud,
Or hide in the corner and still shout to the crowd.
You don’t lock all your doors yet fling windows apart,
Or guard every word while spilling truth from the heart.
So write like no one is peeking or keeping score—
No judges, no critics, no knock on your door.
Be wildly yourself. Be awkward, embarrassingly free.
Let your words be mismatched socks beneath the knee.
Spill thoughts that would bring gasps at a dinner chat.
Say this and say that without restraining any of that.
Are you political? Religious? Socially strange?
Good! That’s how pages get power and range.
Enjoy the great freedom of saying it’s true,
Without fear of fingers pointing back at you.
Let your words do cartwheels. Let honesty shout.
That’s rule Number One: Let the truth tumble out.
But then comes a big shift when the last page is done,
When the mess has been made and truth has been fun.
You rewrite as if a critic has taken a seated nearby,
With ears that can listen and a heart that asks why.
Now, polish and prune while being “careful and kind,”
With how readers will feel held clear in your mind.
That’s when Mom’s little wisdom steps in for the ride:
“If you can’t say something good—let it quietly hide.”
You should roar like a lion but be gentle as a lamb.
Know when to speak freely and when to say, “Ma’am.”
Write two drafts where both can be honest and true—
First fearless expression, then love showing through.
