Novel Diaries: my naked first draft
I’ve had a story in me for a long time that couldn’t find words.This year, to my surprise, I stumbled upon a writing coach. Six months later I’m revising the first draft of a novel! Who knew. Not only did I NOT expect to write a book, I didn’t expect the story that came out me. Apparently, the story in me had its own story to tell.
I have had no clue what I’m doing which is both freeing and frightening. I read a fragment of my freshly revised opening to my writing group the other day. “Run away! Run away” from Monty Python and the Holy Grail’s killer rabbit scene surfaced in my head. This happens almost every time I read to the group. Not the killer rabbit scene—but some version of a petrified me shows up. And I couldn’t be reading to a more lovely group of people. There are six of us—people I respect, learn from, and feel completely welcome and accepted by. No reason to fear. But the fear is there. When I’m done reading, I want to run away again, but once feedback opens, relief kicks in.
Positive feedback has been uncomfortable. I don’t trust a positive response. It contradicts the deeply rooted and painfully stubborn belief I’ve carried for a long time.
“Not good enough” — rakes a mean old voice in me.
Fortunately, I’ve come a long way. In fact, I thought I had put that voice to rest. Not quite—it turns out. I’m facing another layer of fear related to the value of me in the world. My comfort zone is the creative process. It’s where I prefer to be. I like this quality in myself but it also, I sense, ties to a fear of sharing something outside of myself. Sharing with the group has been a big first step.They’ve also kept me accountable with my goals, the solitary writing process (which I love) is deepened and supported by the shared experience of others, and it’s just really fun to get together.
Group support aside, in this first draft what I most needed was trust, curiosity, and vulnerability.
Trust – in me, in others, and in the process—which has been hell at times. Old stories in me surfaced, stories I didn’t like feeling. They made new connections in the writing process. They found, in a way, a place outside of me to come to life again. It was exhausting, but I couldn’t stop writing, I was loving it too much. Whatever was happening, despite the heaviness or resistance that came up, I understood it was positive—intuitively and from experience. I have learnt to trust the process when it comes to art. It takes us places we might not expect, or even know exist, but it offers discovery and growth I wouldn’t want to live without.
Curiosity – with the story and with myself. Curiosity allowed whatever story was there to find its way out. Curiosity doesn’t judge. It wonders, it listens, and it learns—which means I do too. It opens the door to my favorite place to be—in a state of attention where being and creating merge into one. At least that’s how it feels.
Vulnerability – aided by trust and curiosity, and a warm non judgmental writing group, this was the most challenging for me. The vulnerability for me was primarily felt in the externalization of what I quietly hide inside. There were some readings with the group where I asked my son to read what I was sharing first. I deeply trust his feedback in writing. But his nod of approval for me being me—and he knows this—was the confidence I most needed. He knows I’ve been relearning to be me in the world as I embrace my neurodivergent self. A naked unmasked self I’m still shy to share.
This hidden world of mine comes out in the story. It’s all fiction, but the truth in the fiction is real, and very much me.
Why the picture of me by the sea? It’s where the ending to my story found me 🙂