“If my hands are fully occupied in holding on to something,
I can neither give nor receive.”
I cannot recommend getting on your soapbox enough. I did that recently for an article I wrote for Publisher's Weekly on why biographies need a makeover - that was my original title, and I'm using it here, at least! It was, literally, for their “Soapbox” column. It’s been nearly two months since my biography about Virginia Hall, Code Name Badass, came out, and I had a little more I wanted to say.
I wrote it from a place of power, a sense of surety, of hard-earned wisdom on the other side of a challenging journey.
It can be so scary to put your words out there. I've gone viral before, and I recommend it about as much as I would recommend getting food poisoning while on vacation.
Having a piece that could once again be read by many people in the publishing industry was a horse I knew I had to get back on...but was a little scared to ride.
That quote at the top of this missive from Dorothee Sölle is a good reminder: If my hands are fully occupied in holding on to past experiences with writing that are painful, I can neither give to my readers, nor receive inspiration for the words I write.
There were several times when I was writing this piece that I remembered my adventures in online infamy back in fall 2019, which seems both like a million years ago and also like yesterday. I had to put my mindfulness practice to use, holding space for my fear and the inner critic while also gently guiding myself back to my words and the foundation of self-worth and grace it has taken me years to build.
When I talk about a writing practice, I mean practice. It's as much a spiritual endeavor as anything else. Practice never makes perfect; but it makes better. And that's good enough for me.
Writing From The Scar vs Writing From the Wound
While I was working on this piece, I also realized something really interesting about my writing and I wonder if any of you feel this way too:
When I teach or when I write nonfiction that will be read by anyone other than myself or my husband, I am most in balance when I write from the "scar." This is something one of my meditation mentors, Lodro Rinzler, often spoke about in our meditation teacher training.
When you teach (or write) from the scar, you've come into some wisdom about something. There's clarity, equanimity.
You're a lava rock, not the lava. Formed by whatever the event in your life was, but no longer dangerous, and wild in your mind about it.
When you write or teach from the "wound," you're writing from a place of unresolved pain.
You're angry, but not the cool anger of the Queen of Swords, of Cersei Lannister, of Rosa Parks on that bus - anger that has been skillfully wielded into the sharpest of swords. You're hurting and that is writing from a mind that is all over the place, that is dropping bombs from a drone. There might be innocent bystanders, and that might include you.
When I wrote my article that went viral two years ago, I was writing from the wound.
Honestly, it started out as a blog post I didn't think anyone would read. I wouldn't take back anything I wrote in that article: publishing has a long way to go to be transparent, respectful to the authors whose words it makes money off of. If I were Martha Beck, I'd say publishing needs a major integrity cleanse. But there were a few private conversations I wish I'd had with certain folks mentioned in the piece before it began circulating. And I wish I'd ordered the paragraphs differently, alert for the tl;dr people who tweet before reading. Ah well. Live and learn. C'est la goddamn vie, as one of my characters in Little Universes says.
When I wrote this most recent piece, I was writing from the scar.
This new piece is about publishing, too, but I could feel the difference writing it. First of all, I wrote it during the day, not the night. (Wound writing often happens at night for me - what about you?) I also had several people who looked at it before I sent it out. It was edited, since it was for Publisher's Weekly. I also just knew what I was getting into, and was able to channel my feminist anger with precision.
I'm guessing the wound piece will always have more reads, be more meaningful and helpful--it was raw and that's an energy that really grabs people. But when I write from the scar, it's harder for the patriarchy (this includes females, sadly) to dismiss me. It's the kind of anger that moves mountains--not the destruction of lava, but the slow erosion that so many of us engage in, one article, one book, one march at a time.
But here's an interesting thing I also noticed: When I'm drafting fiction or memoir, I have to write from the wound.
When I'm exploring, I have to be present for everything that's there. I have things to work out, to understand, about myself or the world, and that's a very vulnerable "wound" place to be. If I show up for it with all my bravery and with a strong, sturdy practice, then over time, an alchemical process happens:
Through my writing, the wound I'm working with becomes a scar - my words, the story, the craft of my art...it's all medicine for me. And then, when I share it (from the scar) it has an opportunity to help heal wounds in others.
For me, my best writing comes from the wound and my best writing comes from the scar.
Ergo:
Write from the wound, edit from the scar.
Part of being able to do that work is to have the capacity to receive what is being offered you, whether as a writer or a reader.
Notice, too, that the medicine you receive from your work has nothing to do with publishing, with book deals, with reviews. All the good stuff a book can give you happens before it ever hits a bookshelf. And if it never gets that far, you can trust it has already done its job for you, in you, and the world. (You heal, you show up better in the world, and that gets passed on.)
But our capacity to receive inspiration and this medicine is becoming vanishingly rare.
Many of my readers and the writers I work with are women and so I know they are all too familiar with giving far more than they receive. With, in fact, being so accustomed to that dynamic--imposed or otherwise--of giver, not receiver, that they may struggle giving themselves permission to receive. It feels wrong or selfish. And anyway, there's no time.
Then there's the modern world, how it grinds down our ability to pay attention, to receive those sweet moments of sunlight on leaves, the way laughter carries on the wind, the particular coziness of a good pair of house socks.
We lose these moments to our phones, the demands placed on us, our inboxes, those we care for. We lose them to advertising and podcast episode binges and content, content, content.
We lose them and we cannot get them back.
Here's The Good News: We can train ourselves to be more present for them from here on out. To increase our capacity to receive what our inner and outer world is trying to show us, to receive it with such particularity that we can get it on the page and give it to someone else.
Is it no surprise that my word for November 2021, for the month of American Thanksgiving, is not give but RECEIVE?
A few things for you to RECEIVE right now:
1. The Well Gathering, free, from my heart to yours. Register here.
2. This gorgeous piece on the need for solitude from Maria Popova
3. This meditation I created last year on finding sanctuary in your writing.
4. A femme boost of the highest order in the form of my recent article for Publisher's Weekly on why biographies need a makeover.
5. My dear friend Liza from Eff This! Meditation has rebooted her long-missed newsletter - my very favorite thing that lands in my inbox each week. I always learn something, am delighted, and feel like I've gotten a warm hug. You can subscribe here.
6. My meditation mentor and another dear friend, Adreanna Limbach, has the best place going on Instagram. So if you're hit with some FOMO or comparison or rage or whatever...hop over to her space for the mindfulness haikus and stay for the reminders that you are enough, just as you are, you sweet pea of a person.
7. My buddy and pal in all things writing, Camille DeAngelis, has put up a hugely generous video series where she tells you all about what it's like to have your book become a movie starring Timothée Chalamet....and why you still matter as a writer even if that never happens to you.
8. I've been recommending this glorious book to my writer friends and will be sharing more about it at the retreat. A wonderful thing to slowly savor over the coming cold months.
With pumpkin spice love,
