Safe Harbor

Every writer who finishes a story wants, in theory, to publish and share it with the reading public. However, there lingers in the hearts of many writers – particularly writers of memoir and personal essays – a fear of what will happen when that story is turned loose from the safe haven of their desk. Writers are often private people. Now, anyone who wants to can know this author’s fears and desires, their pain and pleasures. The author worries they will feel exposed and vulnerable, living a version of the common nightmare of arriving to school or work naked.

For those reticent writers, I have good news and bad news. The good news is the reader doesn’t care about you at all. The reader cares about one person only: themselves. When they choose a story to read, they do so because they hope it will entertain and inspire them, not because they want to learn some juicy details about the author’s past. They probably don’t know you, nor do they expect to know you. I’ve interviewed authors of brutally honest memoirs, and as much as they reveal in those books, I still learn more about who they actually are in the first five minutes of conversation than in the 300 pages of honest storytelling. We are not actually in our books. We are in ourselves.

The bad news is the reader doesn’t care about you at all. If you are like me, you may have dreamed of the relief and satisfaction you will experience when you know your work is loved by readers. Strangely, that satisfaction pales in comparison to what you will know writing and finishing that story. When you hear from a grateful reader, they will be describing for you a unique experience they had with a story you wrote. They may wish to attribute this wonderful experience to you, but if you’re honest you will have to admit they were the actors in that lovely drama; you supplied only a script and a stage.

Everyone thinks they want to be loved, but they don’t. I certainly once did. I thought the best thing in the world would be to have someone they tell me they love me and mean it. It wasn’t. The best thing was recognizing what I loved and going toward it. Sometimes it was a person and sometimes it was a story. Sometimes the stories were ones I read, and sometimes they were ones I wrote. There isn’t much difference. Whether reading or writing, I am always seeking to move in the same direction, headed toward that safe harbor where everyone eventually meets.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

William KenowerWriting, William Kenower, Love, AcceptanceComment