Writing is a lot like pregnancy and
giving birth then watching your child grow.
If you are a parent, you can
probably remember when, the time of waiting for the “idea” to get big enough to
become actual reality, then after months of carrying the precious little bundle
around, watching that first turn from tummy to back, finally sitting without
needing a cushion behind the back, learning to crawl with a distinctive move—
then your baby took the first step. Granted, it was probably a wobbly,
uncertain move from one adult hand to the other, or from one chair to the
other. It may have ended with a sudden
plop to the floor, but eventually the child learned the freedom and those first
days of the new way to get around, was spent walking and walking and
walking. You as a parent marveled the
independence you saw develop right before your eyes.
Years ago,
after having been accused that I remembered too many negative things from my
childhood, I began recording my early memories.
Those incidents others thought
of as negative, I saw only as difficult times when I learned one of life’s
lessons, so I recorded those as well. I kept adding to the account as new
things came to mind.
When I finally
acquired a computer, I transferred those memories into a file. Now, adding incidents into the proper
time-line became easier. After thirty or so years of this sporadic activity, my
children began to urge me to flesh out the narrative with more detail and
personal sentiment and make it into a book they could keep and enjoy.
Working on
one chapter of my life coincided with my turn to read a piece of writing at our
local writer’s group, so I decided to share it with them. Many of them expressed delight with the story
and their desire to hear more. When I
told them this book was for my family, they insisted that a wider audience
would appreciate it.
Suddenly my “baby” took on a different demeanor. I gave it a name, nurtured it along, carrying
it with me wherever I went. I fed it
with more information, with greater emotion and honest feeling—recognizing
truths I hadn’t clearly seen before. I
watched as it began to “sit,” on its own merits. The turn-overs and crawling moves happened
when I shared small bits in short articles or in my speaking engagements and continued sharing with my writer's group.
A few weeks
ago, it took its wobbly first steps to the welcoming hand of an editor. When it
gets daring enough to come back to me, I shall do what I can to send on its way
to the publisher, my life story, Out of
the Ordinary.
Like a mother with her child, I will have some trepidation,
wondering if there will be falls and scrapes, but also as a good mother, I will
attempt to free it to be who it was meant to be, and hope that it will touch
other’s lives with joy, with greater understanding of themselves and with
courage to share their own life stories and leaning.
Those are
the chances you take when you’re a mother—or a writer.
www.ruthsmithmeyer.com
2 comments:
That's a really apt analogy for the writer, Ruth, and your journey in your anecdotal work - soon to be delivered to the world - illustrates it so well. Thank you for sharing.~~+~~
An appropriate analogy. Great ponderings here.
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