Writing My StoryPosted: February 7, 2012
There will be chapters of my new book that I won’t share with anyone during the writing, even my writers group. I’m not sure why. Not sure if it’s because I don’t think I can or should . . . or I don’t think they can or want to read it. They know me, they know some of what happened, but no one knows what’s down deep inside me, no one knows the story. And maybe the story is just too damn hard to read and take. I don’t know.
There’s always a push to move on, move on, smile, dwell on the positive, move on, move on. Cover up the bad like a cat in a flowerbed paws dirt over a pile. Shh, don’t talk about it, others don’t want to hear it any more. You should be way beyond it by now. What’s wrong with you anyway.
Writing a memoir, writing your own personal story is all about going deep, pulling up your soul, reliving your experience, putting the reader there in your experience so that he lives it with you, and making some sense out of the whole thing, so that others can learn and benefit from what you’ve been through. To make sense of it, you’ve got to go through it once more, relate the raw parts, the graphic details that come to you again and again, the parts that sting, the parts that are so tough and painful that you just want to get away from them. And you can. You don’t have to do this.
I’m at a point in my life that I can walk on and live as though it never happened, but it did, and it’s part of me, and it made me what I am and who I am, and I feel that to be true to myself and who I am and who I was, I must write this journey.
I teach creative nonfiction. I write creative nonfiction. I have never shared anything so personal as this journey. We’ll see how true to the genre I can be.
This is a turning point.
And at this point, I feel whole enough to round this bend and give it a go.