I like to think that in a previous life I was Ernest Hemingway's girl. He was awful to live with, as every writer is, but he was a delicious lover and post sex, in our dirty sheets, we talked about books, art, culture as we smoked menthol cigarettes. FYI: I also like to think I was Cleopatra AND Mary Magdalene too, but I digress. Ernest was big on writing about what hurts. Turns out he wasn't just good in bed, he totally knew his shiz about writing.
Right now, I'm hurting. I've tried writing pages of my book and failed. I've tried writing frivolous features and failed. I've tried writing the Book Badass-ery programme and failed.
So, it seems when your heart hurts and you're broken into pieces, the only thing to do is 'go there'. Except, I have totally NOT wanted to 'go there'. I've absolutely considered running away to NOT 'go there'. The Viking was totally in on it too, but, when what you do and who you are is all about being real and raw, g-friend has no alternative but to 'go there.' (Shit, not only did I just talk about myself in the third person, I did a li'l head sway circa Jerry Springer show 2004 and said 'g-friend' in a Brooklyn accent. Jeez Louise.)
'Going there' is ugly. It burns. I literally am a girl on fire right now. Kali Ma, mumma goddess, who's destruction brings creation, is cleansing me. Years of coulda, woulda, shoulda's, moments, stories, people I've clung tightly to are literally going up in flames. As I write, I can see, hear and feel truth after truth becoming clear and I no longer fear it. I no longer fear the truth, or the writing process. I no longer need the approval of others. I'm no longer writing for an audience, I'm simply heart riffin' with the beloved and sharing it, without any attachment to how it lands with the reader or what that might mean for me as an author, a blogger, a coach. My writing has changed because I've changed. And now, it's clearer than ever to me that this is what I'm here to do.
We live in a noisy freakin' world, so many messages, sleazy sales pitches, now, more than ever, I want truth. I don't want small talk. I don't want to know what you had for dinner - although the chances are I will ALWAYS want to know what shade o' lipstick you're wearing - I want to connect. I want you to shoot a message straight to my heart. I want to hear my story in yours. I want a no-holds barred conversation about what keeps you up at night, what makes your heart pound. But right now, I want to witness the I'm not good-enoughs, the coulda woulda shouldas, the fears, the dark thoughts that come at the witching hours - then I want to feel them burn away. EVERY TIME.
So I'm going there. I'm walking into the flames. Shedding my shiz. When I come out the other side, we are going to heart riff so hard together that we discover your-true-to-you voice, learn the art of untamed storytelling, connect and write websites, blogs and books that smell distinctly o' Eau du You and really make a freakin' difference, yeah?
Right now though, this girl is on fire.
The flames are licking at your feet, what needs to be shed, left behind? How will you feel when you emerge the other side, cleansed, anew, rebirthed? I would love for you to share...