Let's build worlds together.

Welcome to the dreams of my Inner Child.

For a long time, I’ve hunted for the perfect medium to express myself.

When I was 11, I wanted to write novels. I spewed out a few pages of “Cookies and Milk,” a page-for-page rip-off of Dan Gutman’s tween adventure book The Genius Files: Mission Unstoppable.

I didn’t have anything new to say yet, but I wanted desperately to be like the authors I admired so much. To dream a new world, live in it, and share it with others.

Then I Googled, “how long does it take to write a novel?”

The prospect of working on something for a whole year was unimaginable. So, “Cookies and Milk” is still on a backup somewhere, unfinished.

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In my teenage years, I continued to read and dream, but the imagination and joy that drove my inner child struggled under perfectionism. How could I ever write a whole novel?

I retreated, and weaved my worlds in secret; nesting them in others’. By the start of high school, I had a written a 40-page spec doc in Google Drive of my ideal Minecraft world, detailing cutting-edge offensive and defensive technologies, advanced agricultural and transportation infrastructure, and a list of realism mods to simulate hunger, weather, and intoxication.

My outlines were meticulously researched. Where my ideas failed, I sought out hyper-niche Minecraft technologists on YouTube and cross-linked my document to their technical guides. But I stopped just short of actually building the world in Minecraft - bringing my concept into existence.

Building would mean sacrificing the infinite scroll of Google Docs, where I could expand my world at the speed of thought. I was still afraid to drag a clean fantasy in my head through layers of reality - to pound it into something with shape and form. Safely nested in the realm of ideas, my vision could never fail - I could never fail. I didn’t want to risk disappointment.

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I was overwhelmed by the expectations of traditional mediums. So I created my own, where I could make the rules. During the pandemic, I began to whisper my creations to others in experimental spaces: a secret SoundCloud; a muted Discord server of multimedia sketches; a private WhatsApp digital diary.

I designed these walled gardens to soften the blow of embarrassment, by preemptively declaring everything a draft and sharing them only with close friends. This was a step in the right direction, but I was still shackled by my fear of judgment. If I set my own expectations, then I couldn’t fail anyone. I wouldn’t give up control.

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This Substack is my attempt to break free of that fear. It’s an exercise in intention. A test of courage: that I can feel fear, but push forward anyway. I can choose to let embarrassment paralyze me. Or I can choose to write regardless, and improve from there.

Publishing is better than not publishing. Creating is better than not creating. Stumbling into the race is better than being on the bleachers, because at least I’ll finally be in the running.

I choose to take responsibility for what I create. I accept all the ensuing awkwardness.

I have the power to bring the dreams of my inner child to life. I choose to exercise that power.