Blood

Having the courage to write what matters...especially when it hurts ~

Finding courage to write when the stakes are highest - Image via Unsplash

By LeeAnn Weaver

There is a sense of accomplishment when, at my day job, I hand in a fundraising spreadsheet where all the information is correct, useful, and appreciated. When I submit an essay to a lit mag, or a poem to a friend for her input, where does this sense of accomplishment go? I worked hard -- to squeeze my blood out onto pieces of paper, wrung from a figurative sponge. Instead of an objective "There. That's done and done well," I instead have these thoughts:

"My friend thinks this is a cute hobby."

"What if this piece of shit gets accepted and my mother actually reads it?"

"It won't get accepted, don't worry."

"Screw them for not accepting it."

"Maybe I should revise it."

"Maybe I should burn it ceremoniously in a bonfire with all of my other dreams."

And the existential... "Why am I doing this?"

Surviving as an artist involves navigating the unavoidable setbacks that are part of the creative journey: perhaps most challenging, enduring the impact of personal reactions and public critique. The fear of others' opinions---and our tendency to imagine worst-case scenarios---can stifle the very drive that keeps us creating and exploring new ideas.

When my first essay got published, it made my husband cry. Not in a good way. And it made my mother incredibly sad. Should I have dialed back the truth to not hurt someone? My words didn't place blame, point fingers, or give away secrets -- yet they drew blood.

Why am I doing this?

Do the stakes feel high because we turn ourselves inside out to produce something? In the writing of my memoir to date, I've cried over missing my father, had to revisit the end of my first marriage, and stew over the impact of my life choices on two children I love more than words of even the most prolific writer can convey. At the end of each chapter draft I feel like I've performed a kind of surgery, backing away from the stained table and snapping off my bloody gloves.

"There. That's done and done well."

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What truth have you hesitated to write because of who might read it? The work that costs us the most to create is often the work that matters most to the world - and ourselves.