To Write in Private

Parchment. Some days I wish I wrote on parchment. The rub of nib to skin. Delicate, physical, but most of all private. 1074553855

Or papyrus. I might prefer papyrus since it’s not animal skin, and I love the scratch of a pen.

I crave the privacy to write quiet. To put thousands of words on the page before anyone sees them.  To be able to write out ideas and positions, arguments and stories for days, months, years before anyone reads them.

In our culture, so much of writing is public and fast – like this blog post, which I will draft and share with only the lightest edit.  So much is about getting a response or earning a dollar, both of which are fine things that can come from writing. Yet, they are not the main things.

The main gift of writing is the writing itself, the quiet slide into a rhythm of words that feels like walking along Lake Windermere in spring. The pace is slow and dotted with bird flight and the glisten of fish skin below the water. We tire, at moments, and sit on a fence rail, eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, feed a duck.  Then, we trek on, wandering through sheep pastures and across hand-built bridges, the glimpse of butterflies in flight can steal our breath.  We enjoy the experience because it is singular in purpose – to travel the lake, to write the poem, to draft the novel.

Now, I find myself writing with my arms a little stiff, braced against the keyboard because so much can come back so quickly. So much critique. So much anger. So much enthusiasm even. And often, I’m not ready for any of it. The work is too close to my skin, still.  It feels as if it’s still written on and in me.

In this time of stepping back,I’m going to slow down more. Share only what I’m ready to share and treasure up the rest, reams of parchment and papyrus bound in journals that loving people have bought me at bookstores.  I’m going to write pages with the curve of my fingers on ink and enjoy the staccato of the keyboard keys.  And no one will see most of them.

Maybe we make a mistake now in thinking that our work is only valuable if other people read it. Maybe we need to know that sometimes the audience we first need to please is ourselves.

Do you feel the push to share what you’ve written too soon? Do you ever feel like you get caught up more in the audience than the art? 

  • debra

    Beautifully said my friend, beautifully said. The immediate gratification of feedback is one thing, but luxuriating in the solitude of writing is quite another. Sometimes the two seem worlds apart. As I read your words I thought of Mary who, when she learned she was carrying the Christ within, kept the news to herself and “pondered these things in her heart.” And, to me, giving birth to stories and poems is much the same. Sometimes it’s better to wait until the fullness of time to release our innermost thoughts.

  • LarryTheDeuce

    Absolutely. Sometimes you would like the ability to let your writing age a bit like cheese and wine or for it to simmer like a “pot” of chili in a crock pot. I would like more time to write and visit and revisit what I have to say.

  • Terri

    Lovely … and agreed! (And following even tho it looks like both of us will be blogging less)…