The years that I did not write were painful. For as a writer I found my desire not to be of my choosing but something I has been born to do. Just like air I needed to fill my lungs, stories clamored to be told. When I decided to finally give in to my torments and dabble once again at writing I had hoped to return to writing on two novels that I had begun in my youth.
Each Time I tried to write on either novel, clumsily trying to define my plots, my subplots, and breath live into the characters I continually failed. Between these failures I wrote brief scenes for my on line writing classes, some decent while others should have been trashed before I even let my fellow writers read them. Of all the writings that were deemed decent by my "critters" they all said something appeared missing from writing. My heart.
Purposely in those first few months I intentionally left out the "heart" and "soul" of my writing abilities. I left it out for many reasons. One reason is I recommitted to the fact of being a writer I wanted to know if I truly had the ability. I did not want to explore the inner muse and fall flat if there would be no reason for the investment. To my delight, by my peers, I was given the green light to continue writing my somewhat well constructed sentences.
Another reason why I did not invest all of myself into my writings early on is (I hate to admit this) because I did not know how my family would react. As a writer with story ideas, not all of them of are pleasant nor innocent. Would my family judge me by the characters I construct? Would my family be able to divide the writer and who I am? I am not sure if I will ever truly conquer this dilemma, but I am reassured that since I come from a family of readers who interest range from horror to love stories that they must have a basic understanding that writers are not the characters they sketch.
One of the last reasons I hid my "heart" is because if I did commit, if I did finish something publishable what then? Would I have the nerve to submit? Could I handle the rejection? Would after all my hard work the only response from my peers, my family, or myself be just sighs of pity or bouts of laughter?
Each Time I tried to write on either novel, clumsily trying to define my plots, my subplots, and breath live into the characters I continually failed. Between these failures I wrote brief scenes for my on line writing classes, some decent while others should have been trashed before I even let my fellow writers read them. Of all the writings that were deemed decent by my "critters" they all said something appeared missing from writing. My heart.
Purposely in those first few months I intentionally left out the "heart" and "soul" of my writing abilities. I left it out for many reasons. One reason is I recommitted to the fact of being a writer I wanted to know if I truly had the ability. I did not want to explore the inner muse and fall flat if there would be no reason for the investment. To my delight, by my peers, I was given the green light to continue writing my somewhat well constructed sentences.
Another reason why I did not invest all of myself into my writings early on is (I hate to admit this) because I did not know how my family would react. As a writer with story ideas, not all of them of are pleasant nor innocent. Would my family judge me by the characters I construct? Would my family be able to divide the writer and who I am? I am not sure if I will ever truly conquer this dilemma, but I am reassured that since I come from a family of readers who interest range from horror to love stories that they must have a basic understanding that writers are not the characters they sketch.
One of the last reasons I hid my "heart" is because if I did commit, if I did finish something publishable what then? Would I have the nerve to submit? Could I handle the rejection? Would after all my hard work the only response from my peers, my family, or myself be just sighs of pity or bouts of laughter?
Comments
I can so relate to worrying about family reactions. I just tell myself that I'm not giving them enough credit. It's probably delusional, but it gets me through. :~) Nice blog.
Hugs,
Robin