Me: Uncle Macho, Happy New Year!
Uncle Macho: Happy New Year, kiddo! Feels like it’s been ages. What’s going on?
Me: There’s something I need to say. We haven’t talked in four months, and I can’t let another year start without getting this off my chest. Something’s been haunting me, and it’s time I finally tell you.
Uncle Macho: I’m all ears. What’s been weighing on you?
Me: You remember how I used to fill those notebooks you gave me? How I’d read you my stories?
Uncle Macho: Every one. I still laugh about The Boy Who Raced with Cows.
Me: Please, don’t remind me. That boy lost his clothes in a swimming competition, the cows grazed on the neighbor’s farm, and the poor kid got punished twice—once for losing the cows, and once for coming home half-naked.
Uncle Macho: It was a brilliant story
Me: Well, that was the last story I ever wrote. I miss writing. But I stopped. Every time I open a blank page, my hands freeze. I tell myself, "Tomorrow," but tomorrow never comes. The words are trapped inside.
Uncle Macho: What’s really stopping you? It’s not a blank page, is it?
Me: (Talking a deep breath) I’m terrified of not being good enough. Of being laughed at. Every time I try, I hear a voice: "Who do you think you are, calling yourself a writer?"
Uncle Macho: That voice visits every great writer. Know what made them great? They wrote anyway.
Me: But how? How do you silence it?
Uncle Macho: You don’t. You write alongside it. It’s like a cow chewing the wrong grass—annoying but harmless. Swat it if you must, but keep herding your words.
Here’s your first assignment: Write badly. Make it gloriously awful. But finish it.
Me: …What?
Uncle Macho: Trust me. Write it. Send it to me. No editing. No judgment.
Me: When?
Uncle Macho: Now. Not tomorrow. Not next year. The only way out is through.
And start with a prayer—not for permission to write, but to remind yourself that you’re not alone. Sometimes the universe helps those who dare to begin.
Me: Opening laptop Uncle Macho… thank you for not giving up on me.
Uncle Macho: The only person who needs to not give up on you is you. Now write. I’ll be here when you finish.
Happy New Year, kid. 2025 is your year to let your light shine.
Why This Matters for You
Ever felt the words stuck inside you, clawing to break free but held hostage by fear?
That’s exactly why I had to tell Uncle Macho the truth after four months.
The fear doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t have to stop you. The only way forward is to start—messy, unpolished, and raw.
Your challenge: Write badly today. Embrace the imperfection. The world needs your story, flaws and all.
