The view from my covered back deck is lovely: a reasonably-sized treed lot in a quiet neighborhood northwest of Austin, Texas where we moved about a year ago to retire. The overhead fan tempers the 87-degree heat. Being outside in nature increases my ability to whack through the bramble bush in my head and allows me to do a brain dump onto the pages of my journal.
What I found myself writing about was the guilt and fear I’m feeling, calling it out by name, admitting to being overwhelmed and scared about so many things. I made an exhaustive list of the pressures, self-induced or otherwise, that were weighing me down. When I reached the commitment identified as “She Writes Press publishing tasks” I seized up.
“I’m terrified,” I wrote.
I began exploring why finishing my manuscript edits and rewrites and associated publishing commitments would cause me to freeze. “What’s up with the terror?” I asked. Well, I replied, it’s totally unknown. It feels huge and foreboding. I feel stupid, inept, and incapable, scared I won’t be able to figure it out. All the feelings I had when, fifteen long years ago, I took a weekend intensive scuba-diving class.
I’m sitting here shaking my head as the memories surround me. After several hours in a classroom setting the first night, I had to ask myself why I was taking the class. Friend Mary, who had encouraged me, said scuba diving was practically a religious experience. I would love it. But why I really signed on was for my new husband, an experienced diver who apparently found God under water. Except, in the class, the instructor was very clear that under no circumstances should one learn scuba diving to make someone else happy. Crap. I pretended I wanted to learn. The truth was, I wanted to please.
The next day, what a disaster. A young, foolish student teacher made me swim eight laps rather than the standard four others were expected to finish, all because I wore fins I thought I was supposed to wear rather than go non-finned. Eight full laps later I was exhausted. The training went from bad to worse. We were in a pool, for God’s sake. How bad could it be? Under water, the deeper we went, the greater my panic. And my vertigo-based ear issue kicked in. The head instructor came to my rescue and stayed with me. She held my hand, helped slow my breathing down, and brought tears to my eyes—which is sort of hard to deal with wearing a mask.
“Scuba diving isn’t for everyone, Jeanne,” she said once we were out of the pool. I sobbed that night as my husband held me and assured me it was okay. I could stick with snorkeling. I skipped dinner, went to bed, and cried myself to sleep feeling like a failure.
I’m trying to figure out the moral of this story. I did have a teensy-weensy aha moment just now as I wrote about the handholding the head instructor provided. I guess that’s the better path rather than quitting in this case; I love writing. I’ll take one step at a time, several deep breaths, look for some handholding, and move into this whole publishing thing.
Besides, in addition to loving writing, I love dinner and skipping it isn’t an option.
The great story guru, Robert McKee says: “Do the work. Tell the truth. The results will follow.”
The work is writing the story, yes. But it’s also the deep dive (pun intended) into the murky waters of the psyche, revealing the truth of human nature and the human experience.
The truth in all it’s messiness, chaos, pain and self-doubt is what connects us to our readers, who know that same messiness and pain within themselves. The truth we write inspires those around us to be a little braver when exploring our own feelings about life.
And the part about results following — results can be the satisfaction of publishing, but they are more about the hearts that we touch, because of our willingness to be emotionally honest and forthright. This well -written, tightly crafted essay does just that. It touches my heat and stirs the seeds of wondering about my story.
Somewhere in between the withering self-doubt and joyful chaos of writing are brief moments of contentment that you told your story and told it honestly. The rest is just the rest, until you write something else.
Always love to hear what you have to say, Stephanie, and appreciate the encouragement. It’s all about touching hearts, isn’t it?
Wow, I’m blown away by your blogpost, Jeanne. Your way with words draws me right in. Coupled with your honesty, you inspire me, love! Nice to meet you through this piece and I hope to see you in the SCN community.
Meanwhile, remember your words, ” I love writing. I’ll take one step at a time, several deep breaths, look for some handholding, and move into this whole publishing thing.” You’ve got this!
Mary
Thanks, Mary. Nice to meet you, too. Lots of handholding has followed this piece and I’m moving forward one step at a time and (mostly) enjoying it. What would we do without Story Circle Network? Here’s to writing!
Loved reading this! So truthful. Thanks for bravely putting words to fears.
Having enjoyed SCN conferences and workshops with you, it’s refreshing to read about when things don’t work out, like the scuba diving. And to survive them with aplomb, like you have.
Can’t wait to read your book.
Thanks, Cynthia. I appreciate your input. Seems to me that when things don’t work out, that’s when there’s room for growth. Such is true about the protagonist of my memoir, “You’ll Never Find Us.” Now there’s a woman who knows how to make plenty of mistakes…