In grade school I learned the path to writing involves: 1. brainstorming 2. outline 3. writing, in that order. It worked every time I did a research paper. I believed this was the only path for writing. I was never taught any different and I believed that for something to be good, I had to be taught the 'right' way to do it.
Well into my adult years the only type of writing I enjoyed doing was research papers until I found blogging. It was such a short structure that I couldn't and didn't need to follow the path I had been taught. I was free to explore my topic for that day's post and write what I wanted, how I wanted. If people liked it, great! If they didn't, I would try again the next day. Writing a memoir is a whole other beast. The learned path makes more sense to write it, but over the past year and a half I have discovered that when it comes to telling stories, that path doesn't work for me. I tried tweaking it in as many ways I could find. Each tweak led me to more frustration - and more frustration. I was certain the problem wasn't the way I was writing, but that I wasn't a good writer after all. If it hadn't been for my book coach, I likely would have believed that and shelved my memoir for another 10 years - or more. But, she believes in me. She believes in my skills as a writer. So I persisted with her encouragement. Over the course of discovering what doesn't work for me, I discovered what does. Turns out, it's the same way I do pretty much all things in my life. I jump head first into a project, learning by way of breaking. Even as a child, I used to grab Dad's tools - much to his dismay - and figure out how they worked rather than allowing him to teach me how they worked along with the safety measures needed to use them. I mean, he could teach me all he wanted but I didn't grasp the concepts until I started making the mistakes that allowed me to understand the tool. "Why were the safety measures important?" "What would happen if I used it in a way that it wasn't meant for?" "It makes logical sense that I should be able to work with it like this..." "Oh crap, I didn't know that would happen." Let me tell you, things didn't get fixed. They got more broken. So, I continued to allow him and others to do things for me or teach me the 'right way'. Many years later, I found myself staring down this memoir and I realized that I am the one that needs to fix it and no one can teach me the 'right' way to do that - trust me, I've asked. While I finally got to explore my own way of learning something, I was fucking terrified of doing it 'wrong'. The first step before I could begin my own - let's just say unique - path of fixing it, there needed to be something to break. That first year of writing was the excruciating process of creating the substance. Then, I got to break that substance. And, let me tell you, I did a damn good job of that. I'm not sure that even 90% of that first draft made it into the second one. With guidance; not instruction, I am now in the process of fixing it. I'm in the process of asking the questions that show me where it needs to be broken more. "Why did I even share that?" "Does anyone care about that part?" "Does that fit my theme?" "Does my theme need to change?" "What is the point I'm making here?" I'm building this book the same way I wanted to build things as a kid. By jumping in head first while making all the mistakes. In the end it may not be perfect, but it will be something I'll be proud to call all mine. Imperfections and all.
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"We spend so much time trying to make other people comfortable that oftentimes we don't even know what makes us happy. It's exhausting."
I read this line and cried. No, I sobbed. I'm so tired. I felt this line deep in the recesses of my unawakened parts. Then, I felt shame. Was it because I was embarrassed that I know better yet I still fall prey to the cultural expectations? Sure, maybe, partly. The greater shame came in feeling like I didn't have the right to share in the same pain as the author of that line. They are Alok Vaid-Menon. They are non-binary and have been and continue to be mercilessly shamed for who they are. Yet through it all, they exude more love and compassion than anyone I have ever witnessed. I know what I look like. I am acutely aware of my privilege. Did I really have the right to feel the depth of pain they felt when my life has been culturally easy? I have not been shamed for how I look. I was able to seamlessly fit into the world that was specifically created for me and bodies that look like mine. Yet, it doesn't make me happy. I don't want to belong there. In that shame I found my dissonance. I don't belong to the cultural world because the fit is too tight. I don't belong to the marginalized world because I am the right trend. Where do I belong? Do I even belong anywhere? Of course, Alok had that answer for me as well. "Over time, I learned that where I was taught dissonance, I found harmony. This beard, this skirt, this love: There are no contradictions here, there is just someone trying to figure it out. Someone very similar to and very different from you." I did have the right to feel what I was feeling because I am the same as them as much as I am different. The more I find belonging within myself, the more I feel I fit in. Only, I don't fit in with a group. I fit in with myself wherever I go. Because where I go changes everyday. I have so much shedding left to do of the cultural imprint drilled into me since birth. This is not the easy path. This is a True path. Fortunately, I have wise, loving mentors who bravely walked the path before me reaching out an undeserved hand ready to help guide me home. A few weeks ago my book coach, aka my Fairy BookMother, Maggie McReynolds (with Un-Settling Books) sent me some global notes about my latest draft. I expected to read some suggestions about teasing out the theme more, maybe some suggestions about how we could rearrange the chapters, reminders that it’s a book about hugs and I need to include more of those stories, but instead this is what I got:
“You have everything you need inside – every sentence, every word, and every ounce of bravery – to finish your book with honesty, vulnerability, and relatable truth. And to prove it to you, I’m going to give you back your own words.” And then she proceeded to copy and paste MY WORDS from my blog posts – yes, these blog posts - as suggestions for how to finish writing my book. It was both validating and tear-my-hair-out frustrating. I knew what she meant. The way I write these posts is the way I want my book to sound. But, my brain malfunctions when I sit down to write the book in a way that it doesn’t when I write, well, anything else. My brain kind of goes blank when I sit to write the memoir. I forget the guidance Maggie has given me. I forget the suggestions my writer friends have given me. I forget what I formed in my mind about what I wanted to write. I even forget to look at the sticky notes taped to my desk that my left elbow actually touches while I write that remind me what to focus on. Last night I was ready to throw in the towel. That's it. I'm done. I can't do this. I wasn't meant to do it. Only, I'm the only one I know that has been on these journeys. I'm the only one that can write this story. So, I'm going to step back in front of the clay I have molded in to a form that resembles something that could look like a book one day. I'm going to take a deep breath and chunk out another piece. I know my book lies deep within and I'm going to keep excavating until I find it, one keystroke at a time. |
AuthorMelinda Lee is a mom of two adolescent boys, a devout student of all things spiritual, a recovering perfectionist, and immensely fascinated with achieving the unachievable. Currently writing a memoir about hugging strangers. Archives
February 2023
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