Hey everyone,
You sit down at the computer and you let the truth out. That’s all there is to it, really.
You get up every day and you let the message, the truth, the words move through you. You sit down and you say, come through me, be released, and then you step aside and allow it to sometimes barrel through, sometimes reluctantly dripfeed the words to you, and sometimes it hesitates and sits there, waiting for… who knows what? So you sit there with it, waiting, allowing, being patient, letting it take its time.
On the days that it comes thundering through you, it’s easy to believe that you’re in charge and in control of the process. On the days that it doesn’t come at all, you sit there wondering what the hell is wrong with you.
Neither of those things is entirely real.
You are not the source of the truth. You are the pipeline through which it flows. You are not in charge of the color of the Play-Doh you get to hold in your hands, but you are in control of how you shape it and what you turn it into. The words are yours, the meaning behind them isn’t. That came from somewhere else, a deeper part of you maybe, a future version of you. Some force that knew better, something that understood that if you need to write it, you probably need to hear it, too.
Because isn’t that the deep dark secret that you don’t want anybody to know? Isn’t that the thing you’re worried about—that the things you write, the things you speak, the truths you share, they’re not for THEM. They’re for YOU. You write them not because they need to be heard by the world, but because they need to be heard by you. Isn’t that what you hide from, why you procrastinate, why you resist so goddamn much? Because you know that when you write it, you must hear it. You must read it. You must face it.
That’s the thing about telling the truth, isn’t it? That you, first of all you, only you, have to sit with it, look at it, and acknowledge it.
You want to write that novel because there is a truth inside of you that needs to be told, that is dying to come out of you.
Do you know why you struggle to write it?
Because then you might have to hear it, too.
Cheers,
Natasha