 A few weeks ago, I thought I had finished the first draft of my memoir, and I was elated.
For about five minutes. That elation quickly turned to pride, turned to fear, turned to doubt, turned to shame. As I began to review the draft, starting from the beginning, the negative personal commentary began its long and relentless rant.  Or, as Joseph Campbell said --
"You must give up the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you." An interesting thing has happened. I suddenly don’t know how to write anymore. It’s like I finally finished the first draft of my book, and my creative self decided to go sip margaritas on a beach in Mexico while I sit here trying to figure out if anything I’ve written is worth publishing. Not only can I not write, I cannot discern what (of mine) is and isn’t good writing. And then I pick up a copy of Glennon Doyle Melton’s new memoir, Love Warrior, and it’s like -- Forget it. I am never, ever going to be able to explain things as beautifully as she does. Why bother? I do, in theory, want to have writers to look up to and teachers to follow, but lately it’s making me feel more inferior than anything. It took me 30 minutes to write a 3-sentence email last night. I have been staring at this page for the last 10 minutes wondering what to write next. This is what a drought is like. Time to dig deep and tend to the soil. Do a little rain dance. Pray. Wait. And believe that yes, I do have something to say, but not today. Maybe tomorrow. p.s. If you don't know Glennon's work, check it out. I thought I was pretty good at practicing vulnerability until I started reading her stuff. She is the real deal. I am taking notes.   HEY YOU GUYS, I FINISHED MY BOOK!!!!
I finished it!! Which means I got to the end of writing it. I declared an end point, and I got to that end point, and I wrote the end. Holy moly. I guess I should clarify that the book is not actually finished, because there's a shit-ton of editing and organizing and rewriting that needs to happen, but the first draft is officially complete. And I am in awe. I'm not sure if I ever really believed I would get here. I mean, I can hardly finish reading a book, let alone finish writing one. And now I get to go back and read all the things I wrote. I get to comb through my story and hear it from a different place. I get to be the observer, instead of the griever. No, let me rephrase that -- the Warrior. That's what I was. That's what I AM. WARRIOR. The person who finished this book is not the same person who started it. This book is my evolution. It is my rebirth. And I can't wait to share it with you. |
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