[Making the Leap] The Girl in the Mirror

I flew to Pittsburgh this past week to help my mother move into an independent living facility. It was a lot of work and by the evening I was pooped and a little emotionally stressed. So, for a couple of nights I escaped to a local restaurant, saddled up to the bar, and ordered myself a much-appreciated drink.

At the Bar

I did what writers do best: I sat on a stool, sipped a drink and watched the people around me. There was the cute young couple across from me, snuggling up to each other, tasting each other’s food, privately chatting.There was another older couple adjacent to me, not talking much, or making eye contact but seemingly comfortable in each other's presence. Their focus was the food. I'm guessing they were the long-time, married couple. I wanted to know more about these people. What were their stories?

While I people-gazed, a gentleman sat down near me and struck up a conversation. I realized, in that quick moment, knowing I would probably never see him again, I could be anyone. I could lie about my age, my occupation, where I live, my marital status, even my story of why I was in Pittsburgh. It was a fleeting, freeing feeling to think about being anyone I wanted to be for a half hour. I could create a whole, new story!

Of course, ultimately, I was just me.

At My Desk

While away, I finished Anna Quindlen's memoir, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake. Embedded in one chapter, Ms. Quindlen wrote about teaching her writing students to dig deeper and be more personal and transparent in their writing. She exhorted them to open up more and let people see who they really are, not the person they want to be.

Being vulnerable in our writing, allowing people to see our flaws, foibles, doubts, fears as well as joys and humor is a tricky line to walk, but one which adds readability, warmth, and depth to our writing.

It’s what I've strived to do in the Making the Leap posts, even though my natural tendency is to censor, delete, correct and create the person I want you to see.

I try to imagine you and I are sitting down across the table from each other. I’m sipping my tea, you are perhaps blowing the hot steam off your coffee cup and we are getting to know each other as writers, women and men, friends (I might be stealing a bite of your biscotti, but maybe you can pretend not to notice).

I recently read a book, very different from my usual reading genre, written by Dean Koontz titled, The Door to December. The book is a paranormal crime thriller. The essentials of the plot included a woman recovering from loss, a young daughter desperately in need of healing, and a tough, street-wise detective trying to protect them both in the face of supernatural odds that didn't make sense. In notes at the end of the book, Mr. Koontz reveals his belief that family and its unconditional love offer the ability to conquer even our worse fears and demons. It is a theme personally relevant and important to him and finds its way into many of his stories-- his feelings, needs and vulnerability give his stories their heart.

At Your Desk

How about you? Whether you write fiction or non-fiction, how do you let your vulnerability show? Do you try, as Ms. Quindlen urges, to dig deeper and get more personal with your writing? Do you, as Mr. Koontz did, tap into your own emotions to create a story? How much do you allow the true you to be seen in your writing?

When I think back to the books or blogs I most enjoy, the writers who most engage or touch me, I realize each author has allowed me to sit down and in their engaging voice, invited me to enjoy a cup of coffee and share their stories.

Keep writing,

Julie (the real me)

Tags: transparency, vulnerability, writing

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Comment by Julie Luek on February 10, 2013 at 1:36pm: Mark-- I love your comments on these posts. They're always so thoughtful and I appreciate how you call on your own experience. Thank you. You bring out a good point of how we bring our passions and experiences to our writing and really, perhaps, it's completely unavoidable.

Comment by Mark Hughes on February 10, 2013 at 10:44am: Someone said a recognition of one's ignorance is the beginning of wisdom. Or something like that. My point is that what I have to offer here is a reflection of my experience and is undoubtedly flawed to some degree.

That said, it seems to me that writing from a powerful place means writing that concerns itself with emotional hotspots that lie within us. We all have many, of course, and perhaps choosing (and having the courage to choose) is the difficult part. For me, discrimination and prejudice has long been a primary issue. I went to high school in the early 70's, when busing was new and race riots were raging. Police patrolled the halls, but mass fights still broke out regularly. It was a world-altering shock to learn first hand some of the black students' stories, to begin to understand the source of their anger, and on a visceral level. At about the same time, we all read To Kill a Mockingbird. Talk about synchronicity. And smart teachers.

Point is, I developed a deep-seated revulsion toward discrimination and prejudice. It's funny in that, too. Many of my friends became more racist as a result. Why I went the other way, I can't say. Perhaps being the classic pencil-necked geek may have been part of it :)

So, as writing became a stronger and more accessible outlet, the issue of prejudice has been a common theme. I am that issue, in a manner of speaking (as well as more). It's so endemic too - not just racial discrimination, but ethnic, sexual, and all manner (my nephew is gay and I rail against homophobes too). Yes, it's in-built that we're tribal beings, defenders of the clan, but we have to rise above it - and it's culture that teaches us this, that gives us the strength to go against our makeup (IMHO). When I decided to write my novel, I didn't have to look far for inspiration. If I could strike the kind of blow Harper Lee did, or John Steinbeck with Grapes of Wrath, that would be incredible. I went for it; I had the credentials. To have written anything else, at this point is my life, would hav been beside the point.

Comment by Julie Luek on February 10, 2013 at 7:57am: Cathy-- you are so right about life being too short to hide our true selves. I agree. How that translates in writing, I'm still figuring it out. I admire your declaration.

Comment by Cathy Cimato on February 9, 2013 at 9:02pm: Julie,

"She exhorted them to open up more and let people see who they really are, not the person they want to be." It is so true that we all try to hide our true selves, because we are somehow afraid that if we actually do reveal who we are, no one will like us.
And yes some people may not like us. Some people may not like our writing, may not like our characters or stories, but I've realized, life is to too short to hide your true self.

Comment by Julie Luek on February 9, 2013 at 9:06am: Yes, I see what you mean now-- tapping into the passion, not necessarily barfing out all our stuff. Thank you for taking the time to answer my question and it confirms my thoughts in this post.

Comment by Wendy Brown-Baez on February 8, 2013 at 4:03pm: Hi Julie, I believe many writers are shy (so are many actors, they expose themselves behind a persona) and/or introverted and have a hard time exposing/expressing their emotions. But what I mean by the energy is that what is compelling to you comes from your own experience. I am haunted by violence because I was shocked when I saw the graves at Arlington, for example, and I can compost that emotion into a character or a scene. I think during writing practice, the more honest you can be, the deeper your writing will take you and that can then be infused into fiction. Writing about emotion is not just saying I was angry or I felt betrayed...it's the heat surging through your blood, clenched fists, the thrill up the spine, the dry mouth, the feeling that you might throw up...we show feelings through body language, dialogue, etc.

In terms of those who come to writing classes, almost everyone has some deep story of hurt that they need to get off their chest and the desire to write it may not even yet be conscious. They just know they want to write...

Comment by Julie Luek on February 8, 2013 at 3:29pm: Thanks Kelly-- I love your examples and especially your own journey with this. I was hoping we'd hear how others work or worked through the process. It's so helpful. Thank you.

Comment by Kelly Hand on February 8, 2013 at 1:05pm: I think it's hard to write with emotional authenticity without drawing upon some our own experiences. I am reading March by Geraldine Brooks, and it is impressive how she creates such a compelling narrative on a framework provided by another novel (Little Women) and history (of Louisa May Alcott's family and social circle in Concord, Mass; Civil War history; etc.). Yet this is not just a work of the intellect, and she had to draw on other resources in telling her story. The first novel I wrote began with an idea, and I struggled to make the characters' motivations believable; when I tried again with a novel that emerged from my own emotional history, it was easier to build a fictional world with plausible characters. That does make me feel vulnerable, but I think it's a worthwhile trade-off.

Comment by Julie Luek on February 8, 2013 at 8:20am: That's what I've found too Diane. Strive for honesty.

Comment by Diane Door on February 8, 2013 at 8:17am: It is tough to dig deep and express the contents of who we are in a character or in a form of writing, however I find that it helps me be honest to myself in my work.