Writing

My sister is a writer. I am surrounded by writers because of my career. I read obsessively and come from a family of voracious readers. I have entertained thoughts of being a writer. But then fear creeps in. Fear of failure grabs hold of the jugular and doesn’t let go. The minute you make the daring decision to become a writer, the pleasure of reading may become a little bit more of a pressure. You will find yourself critiquing other writers, looking for themes, recognizing pace and beats and timing. You will deconstruct everything you read.  What once before had been an enjoyable story will now become a practice test, something to be studied, understood and learned from.

If I ever write that great American novel (I would even settle for good American novel), I would want it to be honest and real, true to my heart and authentic. These are the qualities that make up great fiction. But the problem is, these are usually the subjects that sit close to your heart, in that unmarked spot that when visited can bring a person to tears. Do I want to bring all of these emotions that already sit too close to the surface out into my writing? If I don’t aren’t I cheating myself from creating the strongest and most compelling work that I am capable of writing? They say that most author’s debut work is strongly autobiographical. Am I ready to explore those topics that can bring me to my knees? Where does the strength come from that can allow an author to explore that part of themselves that is most fragile and vulnerable? Someday I will tap into my own inner well and let the words flow like water straight from my heart. For now, I will champion the works of others and continue living the journey that can someday be explored on the page.