My grandmother kept a baseball bat underneath her bed. Every night she’d collect the day’s burglaries, rapes and murders from the eleven o’clock news and then slide her nightstand in front of the door before climbing into the bed. Whenever my sister and I slept over her house, we would huddle close to her the rest of the night, both frightened by what we had seen on the news. Though I have no memory of any of the news stories, I’m still haunted by the nightstand. It not only kept a potential intruder out (in theory), but it kept us in.
Sometimes the boundaries we set to protect us, keep us from experiencing the fullness of our lives. We have to be conscious of how our boundaries affect our growth and development. And as writers and artists, we have to question whether or not are there boundaries in our lives that we need to cross.
So many of my ideas never get written because I am afraid to leave my comfort zone. And it is beginning to limit how I experience my craft. I tell myself that other things are blocking my flow. A messy office. Allergies. Traveling. Or I say if I didn’t have to take care of my other responsibilities, I’d be able to get more work done. If I knew more about the craft, I could go deeper and be more expressive. But those are all excuses. A writer has to risk losing herself in the process, which means making a commitment to do the work.
I know the importance of setting a daily goal for my writing. I even found a post-it on my desk where I had written 500 words a day with three question marks. But frankly, I’m afraid to give myself back over to the process. When you are in that place, you no longer have any control of where the work leads you. You may find yourself examining the innermost parts of who you are, or questioning your belief system and/or your behavior. And once you have finished your work, there is no guarantee that it will ever be more than self-exploration. When I think about that, I withdraw from writing. Then I push my metaphorical nightstand against the door to keep myself safe from rejection and failure. While I’m trapped in the room with my fears, the fullness and joy of my life as a writer is on the other side of the door.
The key to crossing any boundary is being confident in your purpose. It’s easier to overcome your fears when you have a specific reason to venture into new territory.
The process of writing is less intimidating if your project is only a part of your larger intentions as a writer or artist.
This got me to thinking that I needed to ask myself the question: Why do I write? In answering that question I hope to develop an Artist statement or Manifesto to clarify my intentions, motives and views as a writer. It’s my hope that in four weeks, when it’s my turn to blog again, I can share my writer’s manifesto with you.
**If you have written a Artist Statement or Manifesto, please let us know how it affected your work.
So interesting you end this post with an invitation to write/share an artist’s statement. In fact, I recently created one. Despite having written bio’s for publications multiple times over many years, I found this far more challenging AND extremely affirming. Thanks to Minerva Rising for requesting the statement prior to accepting my poems for publication, I now have one that I am proud to trot out or excerpt when I am asked for a brief bio. Unlike a traditional bio, which gives the tedious list of productivity and education by which our society tends to categorize us, an artist’s statement gets at the personal, uncovering the why and how of our craft. I love the clarity of naming my ‘why’: “Like the hummingbird who has taught me to see deep into the heart of things, I seek to awaken the soul to presence. ” If I had one word to sum up how it has affected me/my work, I would say: VALIDATION.
Sarah,
You are so right. The internal validation of artist statement creates a foundation for us to build on. Our work pours out of the knowledge of who we are and why we do what we do.
That is so much more affirming than a list past accomplishments. .