Writing Life: Keeping the Pandora Box Ajar

See, this is what has been puzzling me over the last couple of weeks.  I recently have joined - against my initial fear perhaps ? - a writing class. There are only two Black people in there - myself and this other woman. Initially, I thought that she was going to be 'standoffish'. Because you know sometimes, when we, as a people gather collectively under other people's gazes, we tend to blank out people who look like us and gravitate towards people who don't look like us. I think you understand where I am coming from! Anyway, suffice to say, and based on my own faulty assumptions (!) she has turned out to be a really warm woman. There is something about her spirit which is really nurturing.

So anyway, I started this class, which is about memoir life writing. I'm only on week two, but I've learnt so much already. I know that a lot will probably expose some still opening wounds for me; but I know that through my writing and my journey of creating and putting my novel together, it will help me to ultimately heal. And that is what I want out of all of this.

During the first week, we had to do this exercise in how we saw ourselves as writers. It was a visualisation exercise, where we had to see where we see ourselves now, and how we see ourselves in the future. This was by doing two separate drawings. I found it interesting that the whole of the class immediately tapped into my visualisation straight away. They got it totally, even though our backgrounds are so apart from each other. The irony!

I completed my homework for that first week, and we had to write a 'close' version of our birth/childhood and only write 2 A4 sides maximum. I wrote about my twin and I. It was cathartic. I read it for the class. They loved the way that I wrote this short piece and encouraged me to expand it. I was floored.

A lot of the times, through my writing, and yes, my journey with my writing, I keep on beating myself up. I have now given myself the permission to just go with the flow. With that I can be authentic with myself and also, with my creativity. I need to shrug out of this sweater of defeat and keep on keeping on. I know that I can do it. I need to stamp and grind fear into the ground so that it just becomes dust ready to blow away and disappear. It's a given for me to travel this sometimes crooked path; to come to the many bends and obstacles but I will continue to navigate them and jump right over them and continue with my writing, and yes, my journey of discovery.

There are still a few things that I have to do, but I am approaching them very carefully. All in all, this life writing course will be my own Pandora's Box.  It will be ajar in the sense of adding authenticity to my writing. And that is what I propose to do at all times from now on.

The Frustrations of Becoming a Writer: Embracing without Fear

Ok. I have decided to blog about my journey on embracing my writing and becoming a writer. So many times I have been afraid to pick up my pen or touch type my keys, as I’ve just been afraid to ‘let go’. I’ve seen others who have taken the leap of faith into their creativity, and I feel that I am just sitting on the side kerb, watching the traffic of my creativity speed past me. Why do I feel so frustrated? Why am I procrastinating and giving up my dreams? Why am I fearing this particular journey? Why do I want to run away from the words that I have been forming  and fermenting in my imagination like a ripe mango, waiting to burst, with all the flavour and juices, but still continually beat myself up and tell myself that I cannot do it? What is my creative block that is stopping me?

Only I myself can answer all of my angst ridden questions.  It seems to me that I am self – sabotaging my words, my creativity. I am  taking my words hostage and refusing to open up the recess of my mind and just… write. I have it all planned; I’ve written a few chapters, and I know how this novel will eventually pan out to be, but yet, I have all of these frustrations and fears of becoming a writer. Maybe this small voice that keeps on echoing in my head, like bad audio feedback, is telling me that I need to stop seeking this pasture of creativity. But see, I have always surrounded myself with words. 

Ever since I was small and was able to read books independently, I wanted to write. I wanted to become a journalist, but my mama just looked at me; her eyes just gave me THAT LOOK, and I knew that this was never going to happen in my lifetime. I thought that I had committed a cardinal sin – in fact I had. She either wanted me to become an accountant – which was never going to happen, as I have dyslexia when it comes to figures. I think it's because when dealing with numbers, statistics and everything arithmetical, you are using your left hand side of the brain. I always was in tune with my right side, so this was just a fantasy for my mama. If I wasn’t going to be an accountant, she wanted me to become a doctor. Well, that realisation for me was never going to happen, as I remember when I was young I kept on having repetitive nosebleeds. The sight of blood to my young eyes scared me beyond beyond! My mama only wanted me to fulfill her dreams so she could brag about my professional status. It wasn’t that I was incapable of doing these particular careers, I just was not interested. So, I rebelled.

I used to write in secret. In my diary – there were no blogs when I was younger, as the information age was just a far away star in the constellation, and I was a young girl just wishing on a star. I wanted  to see my words take print and make sense to other girls, who looked like me, who spoke like me and was possibly going through the same growing pains that I was going through. I wanted my writing to be a filter for my life.

Now, I have come to the stage that I will write. I have my writing wings on and I am ready to fly to the next level; to take my impending novel and carve out my own literal landscape. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t sell; although that would be the icing on the proverbial cake; or if the awards don’t knock down my door ; although a little validation from the world of authors would gently boost my ego; or if it gets repeatedly knocked back  and rejected by publishers; that’s fine with me, I can always self publish it and take my own control, without others dictating to me on how my novel should read. Really, I have to write to survive. That may seem to be a bit dramatic, but it's how I am feeling right now. I feel that this novel that I have deep within me is ready to explode and I  just need to feel the fear, push against my frustration, expel my procrastination and just do it anyway. 

So, everyday, whilst I have the time, I promise to myself that I will at least try to dedicate two to three hours a day to my writing; something that I am guilty of not adhering to. But I will not be beating myself up, as LIFE sometimes takes over and so it may be impossible to do these hours.

One of the things about writing consistently, is that you have to be disciplined. I need to be disciplined in my creativity and also disciplined in writing this novel. I never want to be in a position in my own life and have regrets when it comes to writing this novel. I have made too many regrets on this wondrous journey, however, I have packed them away and placed them in a suitcase and  wheeled them away on an eternal vacation. 

For me, to be disciplined means that I will have the freedom to write authentically, clearly, joyfully, with abundance, freedom and with love. I see discipline in this context differently and this is something that I have to always have in mind when I get out my pen or pound on my keystrokes to take on the oncoming chapters in my novel.

So, yes, my fears and frustrations still present deep within. But what I need to do is turn these negative qualities into just words, where they will, in their own paradoxical way, keep on liberating me and where I can finally cancel out these feelings that are stopping me from fully embracing the real authentic me.

Imagining Words: Still Creating

Sometimes its very difficult for me to separate my writing and my researching. What I mean is that I tend to get sidetracked in the archives of my research, which have become very personal to me as they touch something in me that I thought that I had suppressed years ago. Once I find something fascinating about a particular piece of research which relates to my novel, I then become distracted. And when this happens, my procrastination sets in like an unwanted blemish smack bang in the middle of my forehead. Sometimes, trying to keep on top of solely my writing can be a real test for me; a challenge that I need to really tackle like a star football player doing his best to win a point for his team.

I'm not sure how I can master all of this. However, writing this specific book is in a way, cathartic to me; sometimes I fear of what I have written, then my fear transforms into self censorship, which I do not want at all. If this is the case, then I have to ask myself, what is the whole point of writing this novel? What is the point of writing in general if I am going to put a block on my creativity and my imagination?

  My words are my voice. A voice that I have suppressed like a hostage who has suddenly developed 'Stockholm syndrome'. A voice that I have always used to validate others in their creativity but not my own.  A voice that sometimes regurgitates and can't stop writing and then cancelling it out, because in the back of my mind I say to myself that I am 'not good enough'. I've thought long and hard about joining a writing course. There is a particular course that I want to join, but I'm am slightly hesitant, as I've not had great experiences before with writing classes. I became disillusioned with my writing, starting censoring myself again and basically stopped. My imagination and words became stuck in my throat and my 'voicelessness' started all over again like an unwanted mantra. But I guess now I really need to take a leap of faith and really start believing in me and start putting on my self validation armor.

 I just know that when my novel finally gets published - and who knows when, as I refuse to put a timescale on it - that the disclaimer is read by folk who will fully understand that the novel is a work of fiction and something that has sprung out of my fertile imagination. That it will not be taken personally, and see that my words are an imagination of events and that they come from my creativity which I refuse to stifle and censor.

So, I am still imagining my words and still creating a space for my words. I'm just taking the time to nurture and enjoy this time to read and research and let my imagination catch up with me.