The joy of eliminating possibilities
This past winter I wrote the memoir that has haunted me since I was in my 20s. The stories I included chose me. So did the form the manuscript took. I sat down, let the past wash over me, and allowed the words take me where they wanted. They gushed out of me in a messy, uncontrolled, physical way. Some stories were lodged in my gut, others gripped my heart or strangled my throat. One blurred my vision as I attempted to write the words. They were stripped off, layer by layer, as the truths I found in them spilled onto the page like blood. I’ve always been a structured writer, but nothing in these pages was planned. The words poured out and I tried to capture them, hoping that in doing so I could grasp slippery truths about my family and myself.
After I finished writing the rough draft, I set it aside for a month. Then I went back and edited it. Then I let Mr. No Dead Guys and my best friend from childhood read it. Finally, I reread it and made the decision not to prepare it for publication.Yes, it’s mostly well written (although it needs a good editor). Yes, I’m thrilled that I finally wrote it. But this memoir—one that I spent my whole life trying to either write or avoid writing—is just for me, not for others. And although I know I’ll use bits of it in other future projects, it has done its job.
It would be easy to think that spending months creating something that will never be published was a waste of time. I disagree. What I didn’t know when I started writing that memoir was what was waiting for me once I drained it out of my system. The stories that had been clamoring to be told had become a creative logjam and when they’d been cleared out of the way, inspiration started flooding in.Will all of these new creative plans be hatched and released into the world? Maybe, maybe not. But they’re here. They’re free to reach me because I got the past out of the way.
Every creative person I know has a project or a list of ideas for projects that haunts them. Be it the next great American novel or a new piece of music, it’s the dream our hearts return to—a possibility that refuses to let go while simultaneously blocking other things that need to be expressed. I’ve been through this process several times before, most recently last summer when I explored my interest in learning to play jazz and came to the realization that it wasn’t meant to be. Life has taught me to value these “no” answers; they’re as informative as every “yes” I’ve had the opportunity to pursue.
Popular media likes to depict creative work as linear. In my experience, it rarely is. In fact, trying to force a project into a linear path distorts it. It’s even more dangerous to insist that everything we create needs to be shared with others. When we do this, it’s as if we’re keeping one eye on our possible audience and one on the project itself. It splits our focus and frequently leaves us unable to get to the heart of what we’re attempting to create. Some things need to be birthed just for us. After all, are we really doing the world a disservice by not sharing every piece of art we create?
This isn’t to say that the projects that haunt us are distractions. They are, instead, messengers. They tell us that for reasons unknown to us, something has captured part of our wild, creative life and deserves attention. Our job is to listen and then to let it lead us to whatever expression it wants to take with absolutely no regard as to whether or not it will be viable in the marketplace.
My memoir experience has taught me the value of listening to the projects that keep pulling my attention. I list them when they come to me, and when the time is right, I explore whether or not bringing them to life is something I’m meant to do. Sometimes the project says yes, sometimes, wait, other times, no. Listening to the work has given me focus and clarity. It directs my writing and practicing, and has freed up so much creative energy that I’m being flooded with new ideas.
The path of negation is a gift. Every single “no” that closes off a possibility frees us for the “yes” that is waiting to find us. And so I encourage you: revisit the creative dreams that haunt you and let them find voice through you. They may become your next big success, or they may free you with a delicious “no.” Either way, you emerge full of possibility rather than wishful thinking.
Photo by Yuraj Singh, courtesy of UpSplash