I know where I was on this day 18 years ago. I even know the clothes I had on. I know what was on the radio, who I was on the phone with–even the shrill in my mother’s voice when she asked if there was a movie on Channel 4 when the second plane hit the other tower.
This week will be impossible for a great many people today. Writing, journaling, is a therapeutic tool. It is a way for you to confront what you are feeling in a controlled way. It is a way to heal, reflect and analyze.
There is a way to control and deal with tragedy and mourning. There is a way to deal with loss outside of medication. Writing is a purge of the soul as well as a tool against the encroaching madness of the world.
On today, consider blank pages to scream on. They are always willing to listen.
There is nothing so devastating as being scared to write down the thing which is on your own head. Such a paradox to create something and then not bring it to the light of paper or screen.
There is nothing so devastating as to want to create, only to fear the outcome.
Sometimes dear ones, these things happen. Especially, when it something outside of your normal comfort zone. Something that may be seen as a little wilder. Sexier. Scarier. Darker.
The doubt is most disconcerting, yes. But, it is not insurmountable. Consider it the reminder of your mortality. The reminder that every story, every idea, has and needs a certain amount of care. A level of respect and concern before beginning and finishing any work.
It could even be a guard to being to hasty before starting a new work. Switching a genre. Even thinking of using a pen name. Sometimes the doubt can allow the story to incubate, stew a while. This way when you come back it, the thought–your thought, subject to your talent and its skill–is or may be more easily managed.
The doubt is a yellow light, a stop sign. But it is not, nor should be a considered a brick wall. Listen to the doubt. Sometimes its background noise, sometimes it it’s your imagination reminding you to just wait a minute. In the waiting, you may just make what would be a good story into something phenomenal.
Don’t be discouraged if you haven’t worked like you wanted to this week. Writing has it’s own ebb and flow–it’s own demands. Each work you begin, each work you end will have its own personality. It’s own process as you embark on the journey to hew out the story from the landscape of your imagination.
It’s a process. Becoming the writer that you want to be is a process. Don’t be discouraged by the small starts. The longest novel is still written one letter at a time.
The beginning is always the hardest part of any new thing.
The beginning signifies decisions, choices, and the yielding of yourself to something else. It is the start of a new thing.
Your new work? Your new idea? You new thought?
That is your new thing…that is your beginning. That is the place where all things are new, stay new, and subject to your control. Decide to not just start–there is not power behind a start, only a direction or location.
A beginning equips you with a plan and a trajectory! It allows you to have the confidence and power to keep going. So, begin.
I know that admitting that you are a writer is a little crazy-feeling. The same feeling you get when you unlock a door. I know that you don’t totally understand. I know that you may not even know where to begin! But, I want you to embrace that.
It’s not a curse.
It’s not a deficit.
You are a writer. You have ideas, and people, and worlds within you. It’s time for you to let them out.