Telling The Truth?

The hardest thing is telling the truth. That's the prompt I chose for our fledging Potter County writing group in early October.

Go for the jugular I heard writing guru Natalie Goldberg tell me and the other 1,000 or so writers from across the world as she smiled secretively from my computer screen. Tell the truth.

But when does the truth come as self-indulgence - that sin of sin in my Puritan background. Puritans with their stern black clothing and even sterner rules. Johanna characterized our family as such long ago when she was new to this part of the world and to this particular family. And I remember that.

Truth telling in my writing - thoughts not self-indulgent but rather self-aware – not only the sparkling, fuzzy, warm things - but the dark, gray, sharp, icy things. Good thoughts and bad thoughts.

Again, Natalie's voice, "No bad, no good. Feel free to write the shittiest prose or poetry as the scribbles pour out on the page. Keep the hand moving." She also talked about the hardest part, removing the self- censor, the editor, the little demon sitting on your shoulder begging for attention as he (and it is a he!) tells me "you suck, that's crap, you're kidding yourself if you think you're a writer."

Looking back at files of my writing - those typewritten - yes typed on a typewriter and it needed a new ribbon - on newsprint. Some of was good - quite good - and some of it was ghastly - truly shitty and I'm the judge. That's my truth.

And if we don't tell our truth who will?

And what if I don't want to write about pain or sadness or frustration, disappointments and anger? Naming and recognizing those emotions, feelings, thoughts. If I don't and if nobody does, each of us is alone in those same things.  

It's hard to come to any kind of comfort with this truth at this time, in this place - in this United States of America.