I talk a lot about being raw, about being vulnerable, yet walking that talk and not editing or censoring myself, in my writing AND in life, well, that's the real freakin' work. Especially on days like today, when I'm grieving hard, there's not an ounce of sparkle in me, and I would rather just deep-dive under the duvet. So, the sadistic side of me - insert whip crack here - thinks that today is the very best day to totally heart riff a blog post, and post it without editing.
When I work with writer-girl rockstars, I use a process called Heart Riffin', it's my most favourite tool, mainly because it allows you to let the ideas pour out onto the paper in a delicious inky love/truth/passion mess. This is why I write, for that moment of pure, unadulterated bliss-kissed heart spill, when the words and I melt into one and we make out. With tongues and everything. It's like sipping the most delicious word elixir, it tastes SO good. But the best bit about heart riffin' is that I can be safe in the knowledge that I'll get the chance to edit it, polish it, sprinkle the sparkle, add a li'l magickal juju before it's ready for public consumption.
Except today, I'm just heart riffin' straight into the wordpress box. And it's really bloody scary.
Thing is, since I found out my mumma was dying, things have changed. It happened slowly at first, but I began to feel a little bit agitated when I sensed I wasn't being told the truth. On TV, by people I love, by strangers on the bus. But since my dad and auntie recently left their bodies, my bullshit tolerance has become virtually non-existant and I crave, more than anything in the world, the truth and I will totally call your ass out if I don't get it.
I want realness SO bad.
I don't want to know what you had for dinner, I want to know what makes your soul ache, y'know? I want to know what's REALLY going on behind that shiny hair and head-cocked-to-one-side photo you've had professionally taken because a business guru told you it'll make people buy your shiz. I want to know why this all 'this' matters and I want YOUR version of it. I want YOUR heart-print. I don't want your 'A' game, I don't want you to 'fulfil your potential', I want you to tell your truth.
I've been writing my new book Untamed, and what started off as a book to help girl-kind identify, challenge and re-write the stories we tell ourselves and each other in order to tell our most wild, untamed truth, has led me on a fierce love truth trail, Boudicca style. It seems our womanly arts, our sacred ways, our inherent magic, have definitely created fear amongst some members o' boy-kind over the years and they've made having a 'voice' in the past 2,000 years a whole lot more difficult for girl-kind. I'm so glad that so many rocked it out anyway, regardless of the consequences - Boudicca, Ann Bolyen, Joan o' Arc - and as I'm discovering in my self-led study of fearless females (it's better than ANY degree I could ever have signed up for, btw) there are so many stories that have been hidden and silenced, which is why I'm so passionate about the truth and about women especially, telling theirs.
I love books, but I love stories more. Stories that are positively dripping with raw truth, that really show what's going on in the darkness, in the shadow-y bits, give me the chance to connect to something real. That's why, despite trying, I can't be a 'book writing' coach who can help you write a book in 90 days, I mean I could, but that wouldn't be my truth. I will however, with total passion, help you discover your truth through untamed storytelling. The kind of storytelling that when you talk about you, I hear all about me. Oh, I've never said that out loud. I like it. I might shout it a li'l louder next time.
So, this blog post is my heart riff on truth. My truth. Unedited and uncensored.
I DARE you to do the same. Have THAT conversation straight from your heart. Channel Boudicca, scream her battle cry, 'Truth Against The World' and heart riff a blog post, or sales copy, or the next chapter of your book. Forget the rules for a minute and say what you'd say if there weren't any rules, FYI: there are none where the truth is concerned. Do what feels real. Right now.