Writing

I am quite surprised, and I probably shouldn’t have been, about how closely related creativity and discipline are.  Growing up, I saw numerous images, movies, novels which cast the creative types – the artistes – in the light of the free-spirited and unstructured characters.  And there was almost always the subtext of unconventional equals indiscipline.

But yo! my own journey into channeling my creativity and expressing it suggests the opposite. It takes incredible discipline to do “your thing.” There is nothing simple about writing.  It takes dedication, habit, regimen, and continuous learning. Even as I dig deep to find a way for these stories to become more than thoughts and fantasies in my head, I am struck by the amount of time it takes to type shit out!

I realized – possibly this year more than any other time in my life – that I want to get better at writing and this requires a daily habit.   And while it is not very easy given work commitments, I finally reached a point where I had to make a decision on whether or not I wanted to be disciplined about this craft.  It takes effort to confront your thoughts on paper and be critical about them.  It takes strength and great honesty to be able to balance the innovation and the convention – because you won’t believe how many rules there are about good writing and bad writing.

It seems that I had a false belief about being a writer.  That it happened organically.  That you were either blessed with the gift or not.  That it is a life that found you.  That it was crafted in the stars.  That it was all supposed to click together on one fine day.  And when it clicked, I would have a book that I hadn’t struggled even one bit to writer.  That I would be so inspired by this story that I would write it effortlessly.  And just like that I would be a best selling romance novelist.  And while I am not ruling out such a scenario entirely, I think I have realized and accepted a simple truth: being a writer requires more than a fair share of self efficacy.  Like other great disciplines in my life, I have to work at it, put in the time, and my body/soul/mind will reward me with the welling up of beauty and the courage to share it with others.

There is no indiscipline in creativity and artistry.

It’s been a long minute.  I haven’t written in so long.  Part of it has been life happening but most of it has been my head screwing with me.  As much as writing is fulfilling and the one thing I want to do all day — I am riddled with insecurities and sometimes, I get in my own way.  I get so scared of doing it wrong that I just stop. I paralyze myself and think of the one million ways I am not ready.

I now know the ins and outs of self-sabotage like nobody’s business.

In many ways, this blog is a confessional for me.  It allows me to get rid of the gunk and clutter that gets in the way of the juicier stuff that I want to write.  Sometimes though my mind can be like the bedroom of a hoarder — a huge mess.  And so getting to a place where I can shut off the noise is quite a task.  A task of ordering, cleaning out, dealing with, and putting in everything in the right place.

I suppose the task of writing will never be as straightforward as I would like it to be.  But I want to get better at moving through these neurotic rituals I have — the working through the gunk, the silencing of the naysayer writer, the emergence of the compulsive planner, the ever learning student, the short-lived debut of the positive and hopeful storyteller… and all those other things I do that keep me from my chief aim.

So this part of my journey is about accepting and cycling through my issues faster.  And hopefully the outcome will be better.

So. Writing is a funny thing. It is part listening to myself and part daring myself not to listen to myself.  I find that it is somewhat difficult to stretch and take the risk of telling the story I want to tell.  Sometimes, I remember the books I have read on the craft of writing – and I cringe because most times my writing breaks those rules.  Sometimes, I am ashamed because the things I want to write about are singly about emotion and loving and longing and romance – and well, sometimes people say smart women should know better.  Sometimes, I find it hard to tear myself away from the thoughts that want to be written down.

I suppose the way to be a powerful writer is to be true to the inner voice that seeks to speak. And I have written before how this is an act of courage.  But then it is also a question of what makes writing powerful.  The stories I enjoy going back to read are those that have touched my heart in some way.  I find that the stories that I write that have the potential to leave a mark often come from a place of vulnerability.  I guess I have to keep writing to get comfortable with the idea of remaining exposed – and letting people into the deep space where the most intimate of the stories I wish to tell dwell.

This is a simple, happy post.  You know, there is nothing as encouraging as sitting my butt down and clicking away on my keyboard.

There was a time when this was such a hardship. And all I felt was guilt about not being able to write.  The self doubt was also quite real – how ca I be a writer who doesn’t write?  I was also overwhelmed by my inability to give myself over to the thing I loved most.  And of course, my troubled mind is terribly unforgiving.

There’s a reason cliches exist – they are often true.  And well, the one about doing the thing that you are passionate about is right.  Doing the thing that fills me gives me the strength to do the adulting that I should do.

I celebrate the liberty to write because it feeds my soul.  There is a lot I have to do that I must do… and this craft that I long to master like no other, fills me up for the long road that I must travel.

There is nothing as encouraging as watching a writer about their business.

Writers, in my opinion, have great heart.

I was so inspired yesterday by a writer who expressed so clearly the struggle to maintain a discipline – to find inspiration – to be interesting – to follow rules – to break them just at the right moment – to inject mystery and drama – to give the reader everything they did not know they needed in their imagination.

Most of all, writers are brave because they let you into their psyche, share themselves, and then let you project your view of reality and imagination into a story that they never imagined would be interpreted as it is.

I long for the day when I will be brave enough to claim myself a writer without the slightest hesitation.

So one of the things that I am enjoying is listening to my heart.

This is not as easy as it sounds.  It seems like the older I get, the more aware I am of the things that I think I should do or should have done or should plan to do… and on and on and on it goes. With all these noises in my head, it is really a pleasure when I can hear the little voice that expresses my true desires.  It’s an even greater pleasure when I can do the things that I really want to do.

Lately, it’s taken courage to sit down and write. I am acutely aware of how important it is to me that I do this.  I have been vocal about sharing my dream – and it’s scary because now people know! And what’s worse is that I am afraid that I will fail – and when people as me about the dream, I won’t be able to say much.  But on the other side of this courage and fear is true satisfaction.  I know that writing fills a space in my soul that needs these words and this imagination to be ignited.  It’s a little embarrassing, to be honest, for me to admit this so publicly.  But I am so proud of myself because I feel like my soul is stretching. And with every lengthening of these crouched muscles, I move closer and closer to uncovering who I really am.