The words I write are, at best, average. I am not a great or even good writer, and I do everything I can to change that, to make myself better, but it is simply not always possible. I write some stinkers now and again. It is easy for me to accept them here, where my face is anonymous, unknown, where I am a voice in a giant hall with billions of voices all clamoring for attention. But when I know all the people in the room? There I have to be on top of my game.
I will speak tomorrow, for the first time in front of a crowd larger than a handful. There will be tears and heartache and sorrow. And I wrote a speech for a great man, and it fills me with trepidation that it will not be good enough. I am not sure it strikes the right tone. I am not sure it is good enough. I am not certain that it will be well received, though that is the least of my worries.
I am most concerned that it will simply not be good enough.
Not good enough for the man it is spoken about, or the people it will be spoken to. I so want it to be great. So I let a few people read it. The word was they liked it, though the person I most wanted it to touch seemed to not react to it. That makes me think that it may not be the right speech, or may use the wrong words, or hits the wrong tone.
Something is missing, or perhaps something is overstated
So I am going to see if I can go find it, I have to go pour over it with a fine tooth comb.
Write to you tomorrow.
That’s it from here America. G’night.