One of the biggest things holding me back from writing more fiction, finishing one of the dozen novels playing in my head and completely unleashing everything in my Pandora’s box of erotic stories is – fear!
All writers have to admit that their stories are nothing more than metaphors for their own lives. Some of my favorite writers Anaïs Nin, Paulo Coelho, Amy Tan and many others all openly admit that their characters couldn’t be if they hadn’t lived certain experiences or known certain people.
Unlike what I know of Anaïs I don’t hide anything from my spouse. He reads almost everything that I write. If I don’t want him to read it I won’t bring up the piece or story that I wrote but he usually reads almost everything. Even the ones I forget to mention. He also sees clearly what aspects of my characters are me.
The metaphors that I create as smoke and mirrors so that my writing doesn’t hurt others or him doesn’t work on him. He sees me so clearly that he sees my writing as bits and pieces of a huge colorful self-portrait that I am creating with words. This scares me especially because he can also pick up the nuances I leave in essays and stories as messages for him.
But it is much easier to write it than speak it sometimes. It is much easier for my characters to say the few things I am not ready to speak.
I wonder what will happen when my mother has access to my writing? I’ve pulled away the most from my mother in the last year because of how spending time with her froze my writing. That almost two month hiatus I went on last May during which I did not write one word was because of how clearly I see her now.
I’ve tried writing about it several times but haven’t been able to finish. I write the most about my mother on cross-country flights when I am alone. My children aren’t there to help ease the pain of how I see my mother. They aren’t there for me to protect her mistakes with my own shortcomings and struggles as a mother. Looking at my sons helps me see my mother clearly because looking at them reminds me that she too was a woman with dreams and the responsibility of raising other humans.
Seeing others clearly is simple… seeing others for all that they are and aren’t requires going into yourself to look for the piece of you they are reflecting.
Seeing others clearly is simple… but writing them as characters that are fair and whole that’s a different story. That is where I am right now. I am trying to accept that a novel can only tell so much of the story which makes it impossible to reveal everything about all the characters in the story. Trying to figure out which of the people that I see clearly I want to write about.
In this moment I am leaning towards writing about how I see someone that I don’t see clearly. Someone I don’t really know but my perception of them is but a reflection of pieces of me that I let go of long ago.
Seeing others clearly then writing about them might be how I heal a whole lot of me!
© Anaín Bjorkquist February 21, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.