Opening the Open
Listening to CBC one day (I think Bob Mackowycz), the announcer talked about seeing Sarah Slean perform. The host was talking about her ability to stand on stage and let her audience see into her heart, a gift he professed that not everyone was able to have. I thought about that from own days of performing, particularly when I was doing more poetry readings than I have lately. I thought about the poems I wrote then. And I ended up thinking about the blogs I used to write where I put my heart out there.
Then over Christmas I was reading a little book about being an artist. Some quote, by someone, noted that be an artist meant going naked.
I used to tell my students that being a good writer meant cutting to the bone.
I know the naked analogies, the bones, the showing your heart is the best adages. All of it, I know. And heretofore I haven't had a problem doing any of that, maybe because none of it was really hard for me share. For some people sharing their infertility stories was heart wrenching, and certainly our quest to have Cricket had its share of heart rendering moments. But something has stopped me from blogging about all the really really shitty stuff over the past three years since Cricket's birth. It's because this stuff really is close to the bone. I'm not even sure how to write about it.
I think I'll try. It entails writing about losing our livelihood, our businesses, our house, and ultimately our family. I will tell you that Cricket is a delight: smart, more importantly nice, and cute as ever. He's healthy and happy and secure in the knowledge that he has two mothers who love him.
And although I mean to try, I'm not sure I will succeed. I know that some of what I need to write will show me in a less than positive light-- a light I'm familiar with shining on myself in private, but not sure everyone needs to see. And what if some day Cricket should read these things? Things he might not need to know about his mommy...
I have always found my truth in writing, and I know that when we went through IVF this blog sustained me. Perhaps it can do that job again.
I'm still Maybe Expectant: Maybe expecting pieces to fall into place where they should, maybe expecting joy and optimism, maybe expecting peace. If I get too nervous, I may move some posts to a password protected site-- all you need to do is ask for the password and I'll oblige.
For now, let's just start with the expectation-- the hope that I will begin to write my way out.
Then over Christmas I was reading a little book about being an artist. Some quote, by someone, noted that be an artist meant going naked.
I used to tell my students that being a good writer meant cutting to the bone.
I know the naked analogies, the bones, the showing your heart is the best adages. All of it, I know. And heretofore I haven't had a problem doing any of that, maybe because none of it was really hard for me share. For some people sharing their infertility stories was heart wrenching, and certainly our quest to have Cricket had its share of heart rendering moments. But something has stopped me from blogging about all the really really shitty stuff over the past three years since Cricket's birth. It's because this stuff really is close to the bone. I'm not even sure how to write about it.
I think I'll try. It entails writing about losing our livelihood, our businesses, our house, and ultimately our family. I will tell you that Cricket is a delight: smart, more importantly nice, and cute as ever. He's healthy and happy and secure in the knowledge that he has two mothers who love him.
And although I mean to try, I'm not sure I will succeed. I know that some of what I need to write will show me in a less than positive light-- a light I'm familiar with shining on myself in private, but not sure everyone needs to see. And what if some day Cricket should read these things? Things he might not need to know about his mommy...
I have always found my truth in writing, and I know that when we went through IVF this blog sustained me. Perhaps it can do that job again.
I'm still Maybe Expectant: Maybe expecting pieces to fall into place where they should, maybe expecting joy and optimism, maybe expecting peace. If I get too nervous, I may move some posts to a password protected site-- all you need to do is ask for the password and I'll oblige.
For now, let's just start with the expectation-- the hope that I will begin to write my way out.
posted by Katie at 10:47 PM
6 comments
