This resonated. I have been a writer since my 20s (I'm 72), but fiction eluded me completely. Only over the last two years or so have I found the beat, and can compose and write stories.
I always thought it was a lack of courage, but it turned out that the key in the lock was my recovery from PTSD. I had places in my mind where I was literally afraid to go, and most of them have turned out to be where writing happens in one way or another.
It wasn't a matter of courage, which was one of my fears. How could I not have courage? It was a matter of acceptance in my case--the bulk of the power for writing was intimately tied up in the monsters inside me I couldn't bear. When I finally learned how to demand their respect, they (amazingly) just said, well sure, but you have to respect us. Respect! My greatest fears wanted my respect.
I gave it to them, and the inner trust that gradually built was...the greatest of permissions.
I say this not to suggest it would be your way, only that apparently the way of these things is often shrouded, surprising, contrary, difficult, painful, etc. I would strongly encourage you, however, to persist. Don't be surprised if your need grows exponentially with your progress; I found that stressful at first but gradually, I learned to ride this horse I feared so greatly. It was transformative.
All by way of encouragement; your way will be your way.
Junot's family dynamics resonates in me, as a writer, like remembering the way a machete swings in the hand of someone who loves you, and might want to cut you in half. Junot's cave battle with the Grendel of his writing soul gives me hope with my own (probably deranged) travel memoir with fictions. It's about my escape from the U.S. to Central America, bounty on my head, passport red-alerted, Federal government very seriously wanting me back home comfy in a solitary confinement cell. The frame of the true story is mine, but that is not the one I've ended up writing. I could not write - couldn't even know - my story. I could only tell the story of an America that could make my story happen.
So I search for myself through the CIA coup of Guatemala's government in 1954. I unearth my story through Rousseau's own 18th century memoir "Confessions" (read falling south the length of Mexico). I enter the Satanic Ritual Abuse Panic of the 1980's, Manhattan in the McCarthy era... I enter everywhere that is not me to find me, tie the red detective string from point to point on the crime wall to see the story in full. My story. But not mine. Mine is always somewhere else.
I needed to hear this today. It’s especially important to hear this from someone who’s published books and stories and made a career from words. I, too, have this voice that tells me to not take up space, that downplays my traumas because, hey, that person over there? They got it much worst so what are you complaining about? It’s a voice that’s made writing difficult - both memoir and fiction. I’m working on, but I never considered the effect it had on my creativity. I appreciate the enlightenment.
As someone who has tried and failed many times to write “my story” I feel this 100%. Thanks for sharing the authentic you junot here if less directly so in your fiction. Not that I like hearing you struggle but it’s good to not be alone in it.
Thanks for this discussion. Honest and true. Makes me think that any real autobiographical story is about not necessarily what happened but how one survived - like Garcia Marquez ‘ autobiography title choice “living to tell the tale”.
This resonated. I have been a writer since my 20s (I'm 72), but fiction eluded me completely. Only over the last two years or so have I found the beat, and can compose and write stories.
I always thought it was a lack of courage, but it turned out that the key in the lock was my recovery from PTSD. I had places in my mind where I was literally afraid to go, and most of them have turned out to be where writing happens in one way or another.
It wasn't a matter of courage, which was one of my fears. How could I not have courage? It was a matter of acceptance in my case--the bulk of the power for writing was intimately tied up in the monsters inside me I couldn't bear. When I finally learned how to demand their respect, they (amazingly) just said, well sure, but you have to respect us. Respect! My greatest fears wanted my respect.
I gave it to them, and the inner trust that gradually built was...the greatest of permissions.
I say this not to suggest it would be your way, only that apparently the way of these things is often shrouded, surprising, contrary, difficult, painful, etc. I would strongly encourage you, however, to persist. Don't be surprised if your need grows exponentially with your progress; I found that stressful at first but gradually, I learned to ride this horse I feared so greatly. It was transformative.
All by way of encouragement; your way will be your way.
Junot's family dynamics resonates in me, as a writer, like remembering the way a machete swings in the hand of someone who loves you, and might want to cut you in half. Junot's cave battle with the Grendel of his writing soul gives me hope with my own (probably deranged) travel memoir with fictions. It's about my escape from the U.S. to Central America, bounty on my head, passport red-alerted, Federal government very seriously wanting me back home comfy in a solitary confinement cell. The frame of the true story is mine, but that is not the one I've ended up writing. I could not write - couldn't even know - my story. I could only tell the story of an America that could make my story happen.
So I search for myself through the CIA coup of Guatemala's government in 1954. I unearth my story through Rousseau's own 18th century memoir "Confessions" (read falling south the length of Mexico). I enter the Satanic Ritual Abuse Panic of the 1980's, Manhattan in the McCarthy era... I enter everywhere that is not me to find me, tie the red detective string from point to point on the crime wall to see the story in full. My story. But not mine. Mine is always somewhere else.
I too am working up to telling my own story. It's moving closer. What can you do?
we all wait patiently for you, alice.
and for you, yours.
I needed to hear this today. It’s especially important to hear this from someone who’s published books and stories and made a career from words. I, too, have this voice that tells me to not take up space, that downplays my traumas because, hey, that person over there? They got it much worst so what are you complaining about? It’s a voice that’s made writing difficult - both memoir and fiction. I’m working on, but I never considered the effect it had on my creativity. I appreciate the enlightenment.
As someone who has tried and failed many times to write “my story” I feel this 100%. Thanks for sharing the authentic you junot here if less directly so in your fiction. Not that I like hearing you struggle but it’s good to not be alone in it.
Thx Junot!
Your offering here is amazing!
Thanks for this discussion. Honest and true. Makes me think that any real autobiographical story is about not necessarily what happened but how one survived - like Garcia Marquez ‘ autobiography title choice “living to tell the tale”.