My fiance, Ivan, tells me I haven’t posted anything that’s been from me, from my heart, for a very long time. “It’s all been guest posts,” he said. “And even the post you wrote about CAM wasn’t really from you—it was what someone else said.” Write again, he tells me. Make it from you. Otherwise, maybe you feel like a fake writer.
A fake writer. That’s it exactly. How did he KNOW?
There’s a hungry part inside me wanting out. I feel that I have died, live a half life because I haven’t written and because I can’t write.
I can’t write because there is too much too precious that lies just beneath the surface and cannot be expressed. If I express it, I expose.
And exposure—everyone knows writing is not about exposure. Writing is about cover. Cover the mundane; make it exciting. Cover the fear; make it confidence and joy. Cover the doubts, the depression, the long uncertainty; make it a sure thing, a known thing, with pictures to prove it.
I can’t write because I lost one of my dearest and closest friends, and a huge part of me—the part that used to think and dream and HOPE—died when she was gone.
I can’t write because college crammed my head with knowledge and schedules—and real writing, good writing, is never knowledge, but exploration.
I can’t write because after I lost the friend I wanted, I gained a lover I did not. He wooed me and won me and it all turned out—one thinks dreamily on the threshold of marriage—unique and romantic and happily ever after. But it is one of the great ironies of my life that the relationships I wanted clipped my wings and left me bloody; while the one I did not look for and did not think I wanted someday soon may help me soar. And my journey from not wanting to wanting—at least during its progression—was much too awkward and embarrassing to write about.
I can’t write because the stories of others intermingle with mine. I think of a girl with dark eyes, a band around her throat, a drawing hanging on her wall of a small girl curled in a fetal position and surrounded by blackness. Her story is a little bit of my story—but because it is first and always her story, I cannot write it.
For all these reasons I cannot write. I am in a time of transition, and my mind circles around the changes, uncertain of the outcome, swooping and diving a bit—waiting for the coyotes to slink off and reality to settle in.
Write, Ivan tells me. Write. And I remember what writing meant to me once—the dizzying thrill of tearing off the cover to expose. For his sake, for my sake, I pick up the computer. It’s time to move forward.
I begin to write.
***
Photo by Lauren Mancke on Unsplash
I did wonder about your personal silence. Thanks for sharing this.
Too true. It’s the exposure. That’s a really tough fear to overcome. I’m learning about which stories are mine and not mine, to tell. Only to realize that my stories are entangled with others’ stories. Then what?
Thank you Ivan! I have been waiting to hear from you. Even if you can’t write. I seem to constantly be wrestling with thoughts, spinning my wheels, trying to find the gears and go! Grace and Peace to you Luci. :)
Thank you, Paul! Good to hear from you.
Yes. There is a story under the surface that I cannot tell. You have said it well. How to move past this to tell a story of redemption and hope? I don’t know yet, but sometimes I cry because the story can’t be told since I love the people in it. And… I think I have forgotten how to tell the story.
I understand. Some stories can be told, others not until long afterward, when only the root tips are left. <3
Congratulations on your engagement! It is easy for “the cares of this life” to choke out writing time but you will find the time if writing is a burning fire within you that cannot be quenched. You have talent. Don’t let it die.
Thank you Romaine! I appreciate your encouragement.
Yes yes yes.
I too have found that large life transitions, deep grief, great joy, overwhelming work, and the suffering and sins of others all bring a period of silence.
Underneath, in the seething soup of emotion, words are slowly forming.
I wish you grace for this period of So Much.
And you do know we all want to hear that awkward and embarrassing story one day, right?
Ohhh! Yes of course you do. :) Give me time, give me time. I’m glad you said “one day” because that has a little bit of space in it to germinate the thoughts and things that make stories.
You’ve said it well, and two of the things you said resonate especially: the college schedules and the stories that are our stories because they cross with ours, and yet they are NOT ours. Thanks for writing again.
Ivan will help you soar. Why? Because your fiance knows your heart. Maybe you can’t write at this moment because you are in a season of transition. But soon it will come out, overflowing the flood-gates, my prediction.
My husband and I celebrated our 52nd wedding anniversary last week, an event I blogged about. Cliff has been my “rock,” supporting all my endeavors these many years, both of us serving the Rock of Ages.
Congratulations, Luci and Ivan. A great life awaits. We want to hear all about your plans.
Thank you, Marian. I love your words of encouragement.
Short and sweet. I agree with Dorcas, I want to hear that embarrassing, awkward story…why? because I think we all see parts of ourselves in what you have the courage to write. I eagerly await !!
Living in ‘free fall’ where our plans, grief, joy and commitments collide is messy and scary. Clarity and peace come when we let go, stop trying to understand and rest in the hope and grace that our loving Father gives. Soon and very soon, Luci!
It’s good to hear from you, Ros! Sounds like your wisdom comes from your own relationship with our Father, and that is a wonderful thing. I look forward to meeting you one of these days. :)
First of all, Lucinda, a fiancée who encourages you to write—he’s a keeper!
Second, loved, loved the way you described how writing is about cover. Best wishes in your writing endeavours!
A keeper–absolutely. And thank you!
So good to hear your thoughts…Life has seasons…Enjoy this season….God has given you a gift….
And you will write…A fiance who encourages and supports you in writing…Wonderful!
Wow, your descriptions resonate deep. Exposure….cover….fear….
I’m glad you wrote. I’m glad you found Ivan. Even if you didn’t know you needed him. I’m thankful he encouraged you to write.
It was good to hear from you again.
-Beth
I’ve missed you. But I understand your silence. In the last months I’ve scribbled far more in private notebooks and far less for public viewing. But that is okay. The words are still there and will blossom in their own time.
Gina
Looking back at past times of big transition, I don’t regret what I kept private. But I do regret not writing more in private! I wish I had more of my thoughts from those times. But it can be very hard to write down what you don’t know. And a person doesn’t want to “pin down a butterfly”, so to speak.
It seems that for the past at least four years most of my words have been stuck up inside me. Perhaps it’s how to share without exposing the stories of others. Writing used to help me make sense of my world but now it seems I can’t even release that. This is a good reflection on what stories lay just below the surface and how hard it is to keep going when we can not share but they impact is so. It was so lovely to meet you. May our paths cross again one day.
Janel
Ivan helped me to start writing again and to share even what makes me feel most vulnerable. It’s even harder when the stories are other people’s…a lot of it can’t be written. But maybe you could just write it anyway. For yourself. And then look at it again and see if there’s any part of it you want to share. So many things can be made vague and taken out of place and time so no person is pinpointed…just the emotion. And the specific details don’t show as obviously to others as we think they do…because we know the whole story, and they don’t. Just a thought. I don’t have this all figured out!
I hope we meet again. :)