One of my goals this year has been to speak about the writing process and read my own work outside the classroom in order to promote my book. I wrote recently about my own shortcomings in that respect, but to be honest, it's getting better. (I know, I teach speech, what can I say, I'm like everyone else and get nervous when I have to speak in a new situation!) So, the interconnectedness of all things is really quite mind-blowing when you begin to pay attention to the universe and what it gives you, because I was reading through an old journal this evening and found these words from 2016:
I flipped through May Sarton's Journal of Solitude and because the page just opened there, I saw these lines written after one of her public readings.
At least it was not a disaster - but I felt (perhaps I am wrong) that the kind, intelligent people gathered in a big room looking out on pine trees did not really want to talk about God, His absence (many of the poems speak of that) or His presence, both are too frightening.
That phrase really spoke to me, "Both are too frightening." Not to compare writing directly to anyone's God, but, because a writer is acting as a god of the world he or she creates, it does make sense. For many of us, the fear of writing and not writing is too frightening. The fear of speaking and not speaking is too frightening. The fear of creating and not creating is too frightening.
It's no wonder many artists drive themselves crazy (literally and figuratively) trying to write, speak, or create. We can't not do it, but sometimes believe we can't do it, either. So, there we are, stuck somewhere between the two options in writing purgatory, waiting for something to happen while punishing ourselves for staying there. We wait for the mood to strike, for the perfect first line, for the right time in life (kids in school, less job stress, kids out of the house, etc.), or the muse to tap you on your head because you've waited patiently and now it's "your turn."
I've used every one of these excuses, and I'm finished waiting. If I can do only one thing to help my writer friends, it's to tell them not to wait for the perfect time, mood, or muse. The secret to creating any art is knowing that it's not an invitational. You can't invite your muse to show up before you begin to write. You conjure the muse when you begin writing. And either way, it's still frightening.
Mary Horner has waited more than long enough for "her turn" with the writing muse, and is still frightened by the idea of writing and not writing, but writes anyway.
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I flipped through May Sarton's Journal of Solitude and because the page just opened there, I saw these lines written after one of her public readings.
At least it was not a disaster - but I felt (perhaps I am wrong) that the kind, intelligent people gathered in a big room looking out on pine trees did not really want to talk about God, His absence (many of the poems speak of that) or His presence, both are too frightening.
That phrase really spoke to me, "Both are too frightening." Not to compare writing directly to anyone's God, but, because a writer is acting as a god of the world he or she creates, it does make sense. For many of us, the fear of writing and not writing is too frightening. The fear of speaking and not speaking is too frightening. The fear of creating and not creating is too frightening.
It's no wonder many artists drive themselves crazy (literally and figuratively) trying to write, speak, or create. We can't not do it, but sometimes believe we can't do it, either. So, there we are, stuck somewhere between the two options in writing purgatory, waiting for something to happen while punishing ourselves for staying there. We wait for the mood to strike, for the perfect first line, for the right time in life (kids in school, less job stress, kids out of the house, etc.), or the muse to tap you on your head because you've waited patiently and now it's "your turn."
I've used every one of these excuses, and I'm finished waiting. If I can do only one thing to help my writer friends, it's to tell them not to wait for the perfect time, mood, or muse. The secret to creating any art is knowing that it's not an invitational. You can't invite your muse to show up before you begin to write. You conjure the muse when you begin writing. And either way, it's still frightening.
Mary Horner has waited more than long enough for "her turn" with the writing muse, and is still frightened by the idea of writing and not writing, but writes anyway.
