So much to write... So little time... A listening ear?

What is the purpose of writing but to express ones' opinions, thoughts, deepest longings and dreams.
Too many times I have picked up a book, read a blog, or happened upon an essay or speech that was completely lacking in emotion, passion, and all over-personification.
The author had no personal connection to their subject, leaving the reader entirely wanting!
Beyond aggravating!

I suppose I can relate, however.... No, I know for a fact that I can more than relate. I understand to a T the angst a writer feels as they begin the process of bringing to public attention their innermost being. Or in my case, I understand the anxiety associated with slightly-burnt-orange "Publish Post" button on the lower left corner of my computer screen.
"What will the reader think? What if I offend them?"

When Anne Shirley tells Myrilla Cuthbert, "Oh Myrilla, if you only knew how much I wanted to say but don't... you'd give me some credit."
The sign of a true "authorette!"

There are so many things I personally have written about, I could easily make at least a few volume-novels out of them. Whether they would actually be read or not is completely beyond me, nor do I have any inkling of desire to find out.
"The world may know my words, but it has no such privileges with my heart..."
("Jane Austen..." by Beth Pattillo, page 233)

But, as a writer by nature (writing in odd places, about whatever comes to mind, rain, sleet, snow or hail), I've come to a rather intimidating cross-roads: publish to the world those things, those thoughts and ideas, which are most dear to my heart - my more personal opinions and thoughts - and risk scrutiny and offending others, or continue hiding them away, carefully picking through those thoughts which are "acceptable" for public consumption, and those which I desire not to share with the world, for fear of being looked upon unkindly.

(Book of the Week: Jane Austen Ruined My Life, by Beth Pattillo)