My writer friend, Caroline Madison recently shared her opinion about transparency in writing memoirs.
“The truth is hard sometimes, but steering clear of it, walking on eggshells because it’s easier than turning the tides and moving forward, is a cop out.”
I have to tell you, I’ve been a little shocked by some of the personal details Brave Caroline shares, like her parents’ flaws or struggles in her marriage. “I could NEVER write that!” I’ve thought.
I feel a strong desire to protect everyone; my kids, my husband, my parents, my secrets, and to keep your opinion of me solid, that is if your opinion of me is a good one.
One reason I can’t write openly is because I don’t want to spark a debate. This pertains mostly to thoughts on religion and God. I really just want you to agree with everything I write and say, “Me too,” or, “Well said,” so I barely say anything at all, to stay in favor with you.
Ernest Hemingway (who I initially loathed, but on further reflection have decided to cut him a little slack, what with him being human and all) wrote, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
Caroline Madison bleeds when she writes. Elizabeth Gilbert bleeds when she writes. Glennon Doyle Melton BLEEDS when she writes.
I stay away from all sharp objects. I can’t afford to bleed and that’s why my writing and my posts have been as dull as plastic knives in a Little Tikes kitchen.
I join the tens of critics (family members and Facebook friends who I imagine shudder every time I put myself out there with a new post or a silly video) in wondering what exactly it is that I’m up to in the world. Why do I keep embarrassing myself?
I don’t even know. I’ve lost sight of the reason. I’ve lost my passion, my vision. I’ve become lukewarm in almost every area of my life. I am a freaking people pleaser and I’m getting less and less okay with that (except I still want everyone to like me.)
I’m hiding behind so many layers that I can’t even find myself these days.
So bare with me, while I attempt to peel back these layers, rediscover my passion, and begin to bleed.
Does anybody have a band-aid?
Thanks for reading! Also, my little blurb at the bottom of the post has been updated, so please read. Thanks again!
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