The short comment

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I had just returned from my long break from the Hive platform. The phobia and thrill I had in my early days returned.

Each time I tap the sign-in button, I experience a conflict of emotions. My heart races, its rhythmic beats reverberating in my chest like a drum announcing the start of an adventure.

My skin tingles in anticipation, with every nerve ending awake and alert. My eyes jumped from one piece of content to another, absorbing the kaleidoscope of unfamiliar scenes created by new updates that were made while I was away, and my ears began to adjust to not-so-familiar sounds.

My muscles are tense but relaxing with each punch of my phone's keyboard as it begins to adapt to the terrain it was once familiar with.

My stomach rumbles, signalling that it's been taken out of its comfort zone.

My brain screams, "You need someone to bring you up to speed."
My ego immediately counters whatever message my brain is trying to pass on.

"I'm not a newbie, for crying out loud! I'll catch up. It's only a matter of time. With my reputation, I shouldn't be found asking for help," I reasoned with myself.

Uneasily, I start doing what I've often been given credit for—writing. In between other businesses, I'll login and refresh my notifications in the hope that I'll receive appreciation for what I think I invested much energy in doing.

Yeah! I write primarily for the love of it. But let's be frank; if it was solely for the love of it, it shouldn't have made it past my notepad. No doubt, I write for love. But I publish it, hoping that it will be consumed and appreciated by people. To me, appreciation breeds motivation.

Anxiously, I glance through the scanty comments on the earliest post I published upon my return. My eyes fell on a brief message left for me by someone I used to fraternise with during my active days on the platform.

The comment said, "Chat me up on Discord."

It seemed to me like the whole newbie scene was replaying itself. I had a friend who used to watch my back back then. Each time I make a mistake, she'll message me, urging me to correct myself.

"Have I become so rusty that I have unknowingly messed things up like a newbie? I pondered within myself.

I couldn't have refused the request. Despite my male ego, a part of me desperately wanted to talk to someone on the platform.

I honoured the request and slid into the fellow's inbox on Discord. pleasantries ensured. For a brief moment, I flattered myself. I began thinking, "Maybe she missed me and just wants to chat with me."

The self-flattery was cut short as she immediately switched from pleasure to business.

"I have read your stories," she typed. "It contains all the creative elements. But I think you're not getting the credit you deserve because you're posting in communities that do not really appreciate creative writing."

She continued, "Publish your stories in the Inkwell community; partake in their weekly prompt as well; I believe that you'll do well there."

I'm not one to be told what to do, except in writing. I started writing frequently because of the motivation I got from people's positive feedback.

I heeded her advice. Last week, my post was ranked second in the creative nonfiction prompt contest of the week.

Seeing my name on the winners' list, I couldn't help but be grateful for the motivation I got from the friend who advised me to start posting in the community.

After viewing the winners, I scrolled down, looking for the week's prompt. I saw the word 'motivation.'

I said to myself, "What a perfect opportunity to share my motivation for publishing in the Inkwell community.

Well, the short comment, "Chat me up on Discord," was a pathway to the motivation I got to start publishing in the Inkwell community.