Monthly Archives: March 2012

Honesty in writing

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Over the past month or so I’ve had countless ideas flit through by head and latch onto my brain. Some were whimsical, some were silly, some were thoughtful, some were painful, and some…. some grabbed hold of my insides and set them on fire. Those last ones, the ones that are Real, are the hardest to get past the Editor in my head. Those ideas that bubble up from the depths of my being – they upset my equilibrium. They’re not safe. They’re the ones that I start in a flurry of keystrokes (or pen strokes) but then stop halfway, or finish but don’t publish. Ephemera of a moment’s passion left floating unfinished in the ether. Somehow, I need to get brave.

I got brave enough to leave the church situation that was no longer beneficial behind. I got brave enough to explore all the unanswered questions about my faith. I got brave enough to dive down into the clutter of both my house and my soul to do some deep housecleaning. I made space to create the life I actually want to live right now. The only thing missing is honesty and heart in my writing. It may come out soon like it or not, planned or not. It’s been burning within me like the fury of an unexploded volcano. Been journaling a lot to open the pressure valve and not go crazy. But sooner or later it will work it’s way on here, when I can’t hold back any longer.

It poses a big dilemma for me. All my life, I’ve been proper – well-behaved, polite, God-fearing, well-mannered, kind, considerate (dull?). The good girl, that’s me. These ideas, they’re not good girl ideas. I keep trying to journal them out, stuff them down, ignore them. Now they’re showing up in my dreams. I spend my days chasing my children, and my nights chasing down the twisting hallways of strange buildings, or cities. I find myself battling anarchy in strange Orwellian dystopias, or being shoved, pushed, slid down things even a non-Freudian could see represent a birth canal.

The Muse will not be denied much longer. My very subconscious is fighting back at my efforts. If I encourage it, write what’s actually scorching me from the inside – will I find it worth whatever fallout ensues?