A few weeks ago I sent a manuscript off to a dear friend hoping she would give me some feedback. It was the rough draft of a book I’d been writing. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but I was struggling with it. There was this wrangling in the pit of my stomach when I thought of letting it out into the world. The story needed to be told, of that I was sure, but why was I so uncomfortable?
Instead Melinda gave me the most perfect gift. She paid for a session at the editing class she attends. It was EPIC! I immediately understood why I had that uneasy feeling. Writers pull from the very depths of their soul. There is no paint, or metal, or camera to facilitate their craft. It comes only from within. They are compelled to speak truth. This is the struggle I was experiencing. That uncomfortable feeling of letting my insides out. In a very big way!
The instructor was Kathrin Seitz. I could tell by her composure that she was an excellent teacher and mentor. She was hospitable, and kind in her critique, but direct and extremely knowledgable. I knew right away I could learn exactly what I needed to know. The feedback and instruction I received allowed me to re-write the manuscript to a point where I was comfortable with the outcome. It had purpose, direction, and was cohesive.
During the class, time was taken for an impromptu writing exercise. I pulled from the pack of cards this choice purely by chance – ‘Say thank you for what’s on the way to you. Go meet it half way.’ We had ten minutes to write to the prompt. This was my response:
“What’s on the way? I feel this day, this moment, is telling me the story of my future. It feels big and solid, but is somewhat blinding. They say all things you’ve done before leads you to this moment in time. I am so very sure of that now.
But is this really to be my life? The life of a writer? The vision is so intense I can only see the edges of light sharply outlining the scene.
Today was a gift, of friendships both old and new.
Tomorrow must be met with passion and drive and oneness of purpose.
There can be fear no longer. I must keep awakening the desire to write. I must push myself as I would summon my bones and flesh to arise from bed, from a comfortable place to an uncomfortable one.”