A Little Help from Mr. Fusion

Before I even typed the word “before,” I knew that at some point after publishing this post, I’d crawl down below to take a peek at the underside and see how many people read it.

Because that’s part of writing, right? Having it read? We want it to speak to someone.

But there’s another side of it, the side where it speaks to me. It gives me a place to hammer hot steel, giving shape and form to the things I don’t always see so clearly. Julia Cameron tells us that

What writing brings to life is clarity and tenderness. Writing, we witness ourselves. We say, like our own village elders, “I knew you when you were knee high and you’ve certainly come a long way.” (p. 83)

There’s a place, at least for me, where writing goes everywhere and no where. It goes everywhere in that leads me as I wander through those places in my mind and heart that are often tough to navigate. And it goes no where in that those are often the pages and bytes that will not ever again see the light of day.

That kind of writing serves its purpose without another soul reading it.

It’s the process, the most highly dread P-word in our house, that is so important. No product, just process.

Writing, perhaps above much else, gives me an excuse to appreciate the process where in nearly every other aspect of life I might loathe it.

::

Discussion of Julia Cameron’s The Right to Write continues again over at High Calling Blogs. As part of one of this week’s tools, Cameron suggested “directly contacting what may feel to you like a mythological or archetypal character, Older Self,” writing a letter to my, umm, Present Self I guess you’d call me, about my life. (My, how easily I confuse.)

I was to cut my “older and wiser eighty-year-old” loose at the page to give me some perspective.

Perhaps in an effort to make amends for sending my Alien Tabloid Story straight to the shredder without letting you read (and to prove that I truly am playing along), I thought to share an excerpt of Old Self’s letter.

I won’t be rushing off to do it again tomorrow, but once Old Self and I got through the initial queasiness, I mean, quirkiness, it turned out to be a mildly enjoyable experience. (Though from the restraint I continue to use in my description, it’s clear I haven’t yet fully metabolized Old Self’s advice.)

Dear Me,

Okay, yeah. That felt a little silly.

Aside from a book telling you to reach out to me for some input on your life, I don’t know why you’ve attempted to contact me. Honestly, you think it’s awkward. It certainly feels contrived, from my end too. I mean, I don’t even exist yet. How am I to comment?

Hey, are you going to eat those fries? Because I’ll need a few more food scraps to feed Mr. Fusion if I’m going to get the DeLorean back to Doc Brown in time.

The exercise is awkward, yes. But maybe you’ll find it did help you in some way. Remember how Claudia used to call you a “stuffed shirt” in college? She was pretty right, you know. You really can be.

Lighten up. Take off your socks once in a while for crying out loud.

I think maybe I want to tell you you’re doing okay. We all know that. You’re doing okay. But maybe, just once in a while, remember not to make life harder than it needs to be.

Sometimes you think too hard. Give some room to the idea that some things just are what they are. Don’t be so cynical — it’s okay to take things at face value sometimes.

Can I tell you this? Take more chances with your kids. Trust them to get what you’re saying. Trust God’s Spirit to help them get it. He’s the One that does the heart thing anyway. Give Him something to work with.

And while we’re getting all spiritual, you should know this: Jesus has really liked you all along. I know you always think He just puts up with you because He has to, you know, that whole New Covenant He signed onto. But He doesn’t just love you because He has no choice. Seems like God used the word “delight” a lot. He meant in you.

So move on from that, okay? It’s time. Get very comfortable with the idea that His righteousness wraps you up.

He enjoys your company. Get used to it.

It seems to me that you like people more than you let on. You might think about spending more time with them. I know it wears you out. But you’ll recover. You know how.

You like using your hands. Why don’t you use them more? I know they’ll get dirty, even sticky sometimes. But touch stuff. Make stuff. Use them. They’ll wash.

One more thing: Don’t tell anyone we had this conversation. They’ll think you’re nuts.

::

I see in an upcoming chapter that Cameron will suggest that we also allow Younger Self to speak. It’s good to know that all these voices in my head finally have names.

The Right to Write party continues over at High Calling Blogs this week. Check out Laura’s post and links to other participants, like these:

Nancy’s Out of Sorts
Glynn’s The Writing Heart Is Not a Lonely Hunter
nancy’s love.letters
Melo’s day 21: right day, right time

Read previous posts in this series here.