Importance of my own voice

Each year since I decided that I was going to be a Writer (the kind that writes stuff other people want to read, not just notes to herself), I've attended the LDStorymakers writers conference. This conference is geared specifically toward writers who are LDS and it has been amazing to attend with and learn from other writer's who share my values. Each year they have a 1st chapter contest and big time editors and agents attend.

As part of my journey of BRAVE this year I decided that not only was I going to submit a 1st chapter but I was also going to submit the 1st page (of a different project) to a panel of editors/agents for a cold read critique. This was the first time, I'd ever entered a contest of any kind (other than the giveaways at the mall).  I wrote a little of the terror this was causing in me before attending the conference. I hadn't written anything about the outcome, yet. So here goes . . .

One part of my daily battle between creative and logical is the discussion of whether this or that is "worth it." Sometimes it is helpful. Q. Is it worth it to pick up the living room ten minutes BEFORE the kids get home from school? A. Nope, just have the kids clean it up when they get home. Sometimes it is easily ignored. Q. Is it worth it to eat dinner twenty minutes late so that I can finish the last fifteen pages of the book I'm reading? A. Why are you asking? Read it. Read it.  Sometimes it is stifling. Q. Is it worth it to spend time writing if you can't guarantee that everyone will love it? A. Well, what jobs are you ignoring, what child are you neglecting, etc. For years, I put myself on a back burner because of this. I've written about it here. I won't go into it again.

I'd gotten to the point that I felt like writing was meaningful and I was willing to make other sacrifices to have time to do this one thing I really wanted to do. And then I went to writer's conference and put on my bravest face, even though I felt weak in the knees. And then I almost fainted in one of my classes. I told myself it was nerves, and I'd feel better tomorrow. I'd come so far I wasn't going to walk away just as my journey was getting hard. I woke up for day 2 (judgement day) still weak in the knees and lightheaded but determined to keep pushing to the end of the day. By now I'd figured out that it wasn't just nerves, but I wasn't going to succumb to full blown sick until the conference was over. They announced the contest winners at lunch. The news wasn't what I'd hoped for, not even a little bit. Not only did I not win, but the critiques weren't great either. I'd been dinged on everything from story structure to grammar and punctuation. And even the constructive comments contradicted each other so I was unsure of how to fix the problems. Trying to see the positive, I found a comfortable chair, took some deep breaths, and looked for any positives words that were written. I still had classes to attend and my 1st page critique wasn't until the end of the day.

After about an hour, I did what I do best and stuffed all my emotions down my throat and swallowed them. Put on a smile and told everyone that I was okay. Attended my classes, took good notes, and learned some stuff. Then I went to the ballroom still smiling, but all I really wanted to do was crawl into my bed and hide for awhile. My critique was only the 2nd one read, and the person reading it really struggled. She skipped words, and read in a halted style. The emotion of the scene was completely lost. Again the critiques weren't bad, but weren't great either. I wasn't the worst one that was read, but everyone didn't love me either. So again I plastered a smile on my face, though now it was even less sincere, and swallowed even more emotions and came home to my family. At the end of the day I was able to crawl into bed and hide.

I spoke of what happened and how these two days truly made me feel exactly once, to my husband the next day. To him I cried that my journey hadn't been "worth it", and I should just stick to the things that I was best at. He was kind and listened, and tried to help. I'd never had my heart broken before. I didn't know what that felt like. But that is what it was, heartbreak. I wasn't ready or able to deal with it, so I swallowed it and I put writing away for a while. It was almost summer and I didn't get much done then anyway. And that was that.

As summer neared it's end, my fingers itched and my brain spun. Ideas fluttered about in the wind and heart felt healed enough to allow myself to grasp at them. I knew I wasn't finished with writing and I hadn't finished with BRAVE either. So when an opportunity dropped in my email box to do a writeup on an event I have attended for years I typed up my request and hit send before I could chicken out. And I got the assignment. When another opportunity appeared to write the same types of things I've been blogging about here for a bigger audience, I took another deep breath. Again I got the assignment. I got both because of what I have done here on this blog. Growth I've achieved and words that I've written that mean something to people other than myself.

Then last week, with the help of a friend, I realized that some of the health problems I'd been having all summer were emotional ones too. And the worst of those health problems were related to my emotions regarding my voice. And viola - I got it. The thing is even though I'd swallowed all those emotions, I'd actually dealt with most of them. In the not telling the whole story to those who'd asked I'd actually started to believe most of what I was saying. All that was left was to let go of the pain of not getting it right the first time I tried. I realize that not getting it right is going to happen again. And each time my heart might break and I'm going to have to pick myself up and start again. But now I know I can.