Monday, March 16, 2009

Calling Me

Sherry gave me this leather-bound notebook several years ago. Inside, she wrote a sweet note letting me know that this was mine, and I should write in it whatever I felt in my heart to write. I used it once, at the birth of my second son, when I wrote some poetry to commemorate the occasion, but beyond that, the book has sat on top of a dresser untouched. I even took the poetry out and stowed it away in a folder. So, now, the book is empty again.

Recently, the book has been calling me. Every time I look at it, it seems to be telling me to write in it, and I'm being told what to write. It's driving me mad. I mean, I have my slate full with books, screenplays, and poetry to write for other people, and here I have this book calling me out to write for ME.

I know this sounds crazy, as if I'm saying the book is possessed, but it does want me to write in it. How many books out there talk to people? I wish it were an old leather-bound book. Maybe I could convince myself that the spirit of some old writer lives in it and was calling me to my Calling. But it's new, so there's no history to it. There's no old writer. There's nothing but me.

Of course, I'm not hearing voices, so don't think I'm going crazy. The voice is there, but it's coming from me. It's that soft whisper inside calling out from my soul to tell me what to do. Perhaps I'm finally getting in touch with my true self, and this is my mind's way of telling me that it's OK to come out of the literary closet and finally take a chance at writing something fantastic in my own name.

I've missed out on these opportunities for a long time. I used to write solely for myself (when I was still developing my voice) until money and responsibility got in the way. Then there was the fear of rejection. Not literary rejection, by the way, but the rejection of being me; being the person who I really am. I have spent a lifetime being someone else, and that someone else is nowhere close to resembling the real me.

The truth is, I don't fear literary rejection. When I write from the heart, there is no rejection because it's powerful writing. I see it day in and day out with my clients. I hear the kind of feedback in a week that most writers want to hear in a year. Still, it's not my BEST writing. That, I'm sure, is reserved for something I produce on my own terms. Writing for other people is gratifying, but I'm writing on their terms, in their voice, and on their subject. It's just not the same.

But here I am staring at this book, and it continues to call me. Is this the time when I should listen and write the libretto/musical I've always wanted to write? Is this the time when it should happen?

I've been learning a lot about myself over these past few months, and the one thing I have discovered is that, not only have I hidden myself for the longest time, but I've done so because I've spent a lifetime worrying about what other people think of me. And for good reason. It's one thing to fear rejection because of the quality of a manuscript, but it's another to fear rejection for coming out and being the person who I really am. This book is calling me to do just that.

I think it's time to listen to my heart. At 38 years old, I think it's time to stop worrying about what other people think of me because of my art. I think it's time to listen to the book.

I do very well as a ghostwriter, and I have no complaints. But I really don't want to be 45 still writing under someone else's name. It's my turn to step onto the stage of life and play that part called "me." It's my turn to write my own material without fear of what people think of me. It's my turn to be me.

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