People hide their truths. Like a pebble stuck in their shoe they limp or avoid walking altogether.
In the book Bird by Bird, by Ann Lamont, she refers to writing in this way:
…But after a few days at the desk, telling the truth in an interesting way turns out to be about as easy and pleasurable as bathing a cat.
The truth generally is mucky. Our veneer appearance and eloquent words are far more palatable. The problem is that approach tends to be boring. After all, no one wants to hear about our shortcomings, or underbelly.
Or do they?
Often, the very thing we want is stuffed behind a tangle of lies and truths we tell ourselves.
I want to is write a novel. Often, the welling builds and I must spill words, stamp them onto paper. Lately, that means a short blog such as this. That preverbal pebble remains in my shoe. Thus, no book.
Meaningful writing is truthful. It’s communicating something worth reading.
Exit veneer and eloquence.
Below are the truths about writing (a book) that have kept me away for too long.
Exit pebble.
I’ve spent too much time writing without much success. That formula feels like failure.
After losing a husband and a dicey 2020 I’m not sure I can take disappointments.
The journey reminds me of a rollercoaster. The idea of getting back on scares me.
Flooding pages with honest words feels like walking around naked.
A good writer’s group is hard if not impossible to find.
My point is sharing this is twofold:
To expose my truth, slough it off and move forward
To encourage others to exam their truths.
What might be stopping you from doing what’s deep in your bones?
Cheers to truth.
Most days I walk.
y fragile spirit and find strength somewhere in the sunshine.
Marc remains inside me. I like to think of him as an imprint, never to be erased. The sum of us rests in a comfy spot on my heart. Sometimes I feel warmth. Sometimes I see pictures. At any time I can tap into our love. And I do.