I share honestly. Transparently. And it feels incredibly liberating. Except when it doesn’t. Because I too live in the real world.
I have been following writers for as long as I can remember. I loved to read as a little girl. Little House on the Prairie, Anne of Green Gables, Harriet the Spy, Trixie Belden, and a Tree Grows in Brooklyn. And, as I grew up, I continued to passionately pursue reading as a hobby.
And secretly I dreamed, someday, that I might be a writer.
I shared both the passion for reading (and the desire to write) with my mother, who introduced me to authors that challenged me and inspired me. We would share our favorites, and sometimes, we’d argue about the philosophies shared by the writers.
Mostly, I just borrowed her books and never returned them. (Sorry, Ma!)
One of our common favorites was Pat Conroy. I found The Water is Wide first, and then moved on to The Prince of Tides, Lords of Discipline, The Great Santini, Beach Music, My Losing Season, South of Broad, and his memoir, The Death of Santini.
What always fascinated me about his writing, and what I believe I connected to the most, was his raw vulnerability. The more I read about him, the more I learned and realized that much of his personal life was reflected in his stories. I discovered that The Great Santini caused friction in the family, because it reportedly revealed family secrets. His father, after reading, was initially angered, and then eventually set about to prove himself to be a better man than he read in the pages of that novel.
The power of words, written, can truly change the course of a person’s life.
While I don’t have family secrets, I do have a past, and there has been pain and failure and shame (I hear that I am not alone in that fact). And, yet, it is my pain, failure, and shame that have shaped me and given me the strength, insight, and desire to make it all worth something. If I can take my fears, doubts, and mistakes and somehow inspire someone else, it will be worth every tear I cried while trying to find my way to the light.
Recently, when someone commented on the transparency in my writing, I was reminded of Conroy, and the inspiration he had in my early life. His pioneering way of writing, personally, passionately, and clearly, without losing his power, he was a true professional. I do believe, at least for myself, it is necessary.
I found this quote shared by Conroy toward the end of a forward in Writing South Carolina: Selections from the First High School Writing Contest — a publication for high school students in Beaufort, SC in 2015.
“To write is a form of nakedness that all of you are going to learn about when this book is published. It is an act of courage to write anything, but it is an act approaching madness to want to do this for a living.
Go deeper. That is my advice to all writers. Then go deeper again. When I look at myself in the mirror, I’ve no clear idea of who that guy is looking back. For fifty years I’ve been trying to learn the essential truth of that one man. I’m not sure I’ve scratched the surface of that unending mystery. There are enigmas buried inside you in the deepest waters. Whether they be angels or moray eels, whether they be godlike or demonic, it is your job to discover them for yourself and no one else. You write for yourself. You write for no one else. It is your art that you are seeking, and if you are very lucky, it is your art that is desperately trying to make its own voice heard to you. Listen. Pray it is calling your name.”
I write from the heart, and if it’s worth reading, I can only say, it is calling my name, and I believe it is my duty to respond. We’re all called to something, some time. I pray you are brave enough to answer.
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