A note on writing

I've written an unpublished novel, short films, a TV series pilot and many brand films. I had a thought on the process...

TO WRITE IS TO CONFESS. You may not cast it in this light but each time we write, we share a piece of ourselves. We become vulnerable, attempting to connect, risking belittlement and hoping for acceptance and maybe a little praise. We extend a hand knowing it might be slapped away, rejected, scorned or deemed unworthy.

How many thought-provoking works of literature are collecting dust right now because the author decided not to share it with the rest of us? Is it fear of derision? Is it a lack of self-worth? We all have something to say; an aching need to explain the way we experience life. For some, writing can be painful. For others, cathartic. For many of us it's both.

Fear hangs on each word we write; an exhilarating rush when we dare to put the words down onto the page. Tension builds; a fight between anguish and joy. It lights a fire in our belly. We fashion a new character and after working and reworking the story, our character...wait a minute. It can't be. It's a creeping feeling that comes in the middle of the night when we're caught somewhere between wakefulness and dreams. An unexplainable feeling that our character has come alive for the very first time. But not just on the page. You suddenly stop writing. The hair on the back of your neck stands up — your character is watching you from right there on the page, living, and breathing. You haven’t created fiction. You’ve birthed a real person who thinks and feels independently of you — observing you, taking in the moment of self-awareness, asking is this my creator? Then you laugh it off. C’mon, it’s 2 am; your imagination is playing tricks on you. But is it?

Writing says more about us than we care to admit. Others find the clues to our personality behind the words we write as we find ourselves in the process. We may cherish what we’ve wrought or we fight it and lock it away in a box. It's our soul we've locked away and it wants to be free to soar out of our imagination and into the open air. We live most of our lives in our head, imagining, revisiting moments from earlier in the day, and anticipating the possibilities of what’s to come. We dream at night and daydream when we’re awake. 

Next time you take a walk, do so with intention. Slow your breath...open your eyes...lift the cup of coffee to your lips...sip it like it was your first time...smile at that passing stranger...feel the warmth in your belly. Today is another day; another chance to dream, to see things for the first time and maybe this time you will put it down on the page.

To write is to confess. We lurk behind every word, every dash, every dot and comma of punctuation. So...what will you confess today?