Writing got much easier for me when I began to see it as a relationship rather than something I alone was doing. To write, I asked questions, and then listened for an answer. If I perceived myself – the one who asked the question – as also responsible for the answer, one never came. So though I was physically alone whenever I wrote, the experience was of communication with something else. Though this contradicted certain concepts of reality I had been taught to believe, it was the only practical approach to doing the thing I loved to do.
But this relationship became troubled and argumentative as soon as I began worrying about other people, the ones with whom I would like to share my work. Publishing is a relationship also. I start a story and readers finish it in their imaginations. The inherent truth of all relationships is equality, and this is true of the writer-reader relationship. My reader’s interpretation of my stories is every bit as valid and important as mine. But those interpretations are none of my business.
The moment I think they are my business, the moment I begin worrying about what people will think of what I’ve written, I become lost in a desperate and endless search for approval. I have gone on that search many times, only to find myself in some bitter country of constant argument. You can either look for your story or for people’s approval – not both. The moment I return to the story and begin listening to whatever answers all my questions, I am traveling in the only direction I have ever wanted to travel.
I have learned that this rule is applicable to all relationships. Every argument I have begun with people I love stemmed from my belief that I knew what another person was thinking, or that I had to somehow guess what they were thinking. I mistook this illusory mind-melding for intimacy. Just as when I am writing, to be in good relation to another person, I must forget about what I think they’re thinking and simply speak the truth as best I can. The only way I know how to speak the truth is by listening to that same voice that answers my questions when I write.
Every argument of which I have ever been a part ended the moment I chose to be completely honest. Or, I should say, the argument ended in me, which is all I’ve ever wanted. I am still a little amazed that to feel close to someone else, I must return to what I trust most completely in myself. It seems a little contradictory, but I believe what I listen to when I write speaks to everyone. In this way, it is the true source of all our intimacy, and the more closely we listen to it, the better we know others and ourselves.
If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual and group coaching.
Fearless Writing: How to Create Boldly and Write With Confidence.
You can find William at: williamkenower.com