This is all you need to be a writer
And a couple pictures you don't need but I tossed them in anyway.
Everyone says they want to be a writer until its time to put words on paper… and I am one of them.
I am currently about half way through a memoir about meeting my husband and falling in love across oceans and country lines in the 2020’s (yes the dark times); a few steps into a fantasy novel, while simultaneously wading eyebrows deep in a bunch of unpublished poems (that if I can muster the nerve to edit and format them could be my second book). But being a creative is hard. And engaging in the art, practice, and discipline of writing is wildly intimate and terrifyingly vulnerable in ways that most other arts just aren’t.
I can blame the brush or poor quality paints in my painting. When we did blindfolded sculpting night, my clay was definitively less than desirable. And I like to tell myself my photography would look (even more) sickening if I just had access to a better camera. But when my words suck? When my sentences resemble hot garbage, steam rising right off the page, there is nowhere for me to run. Those are my little brain babies romping around in the world. And you have got to be a little “de lu lu” as the kids say, to think that all 100,000 of your written words, pasted and paperclipped into a book, are going to be a constant delight.
And herein lies the reason I think most people will never get past merely saying, “I want to write a book.” The immensity of such a creative act, falling on our precious and fragile selves is (not unreasonably) too much to bear. So our mind does us a huge solid, and we procrastinate ad infinitum. We tell ourselves, “well I never really wanted to write that old thing. It was just a silly idea. Besides I am far to busy with my (insert any number of excuses here).” My personal favorite is when parents site the kids. (Because that is going to be a fun conversation down the road when mommy says the real reason she didn’t fulfill her dream was because little Suzie decided to be born)
Somewhere in Boston Massachusetts is a museum I have never been to, and hope to never have my work featured in. It is called the Museum of Bad Art or MOBA for short. And besides being an absolute crack up collection of “art too bad to be ignored,” it exists as a celebration of something fundamental to creative people across all time and space: The artists’ right to fail.
Without that right to fail, without the scores of laughably terrible work there is no good art to be seen.
Maybe for some, a good pep talk or a sermon is enough to catapult themselves forward each day; rewatching their favorite speakers and listening to podcasts that shout “What would you create if you knew you could not fail?!” or “leap and the net will appear!” or some version of “the universe believes in you!”
Which is all well and good for the universe, but in the end I am the one who has to freaking write this book. These sparks of inspiration are like a nice little sugar high, they are sometimes just what we need to get started but when you are two weeks, two months, or even two years into building a mountain using only a shovel and Microsoft word, we need proper nutrition.
Personally, I can’t convince myself failure is an impossibility every day for two years straight (I can barely make it two days before the vein in my forehead pops out and my eye starts to twitch). But I can give myself permission to fumble and keep going. I can hold my Artistic Right to Fail close to my heart and chew on questions that actually have substance and something to offer me besides temporary bravado.
What is worth failing over?
Who needs to hear these words as badly as I need to speak them?
Who will be set free by my courage?
Can I approach my work sincerely without taking myself too seriously?
Can I remind myself that I absolutely can (and will) fail at many things and the world will graciously keep turning?
Do I have permission to make some hot garbage (while on my way to making something I love)?
“I am human, nothing human is alien to me.”
-Terence
Maybe with all these things in mind I can get my butt back in the writing saddle, and maybe you will meet me there. They say never to meet your heroes, but I think there is a wonderful gift when you get the chance. When these people are close enough to touch you realize that all these writers, poets, actors, musicians, chefs, doctors, entrepreneurs and dreamers are all just that, people. None of them blessed with supernatural abilities beyond the courage to continue. And we, being human in the same way, have everything—yes everything—we need.
You don’t need to be incredible. You just need to take the next step.
Love Notes to Little Things:
This is a little excerpt from the memoir I am writing about meeting my husband in Bali in 2019 and fighting to be together across continents and country lines. Enjoy!
“You made it!” I announced above the terminal noise.
“I made it.” Dariusz echoed stepping around the car to meet me. And before I could say anything more my face was in his hands and my lips… my lips were as close to heaven as they were ever going to get. He smelled like a mixture of white musk, agarwood, and the precise moment that sugar melts on an open flame. And for a moment I forgot there was a world outside of us. Including my little blue car blinking its hazard lights and the neon orange traffic officer struggling to keep this vehicular artery from clogging. He finished the kiss and pulled back just enough to get a good look at me. My smile leapt for my eyes and the blue of his sent me far into a future where none of these international rendezvous seemed outrageous but perfectly inevitable. Somewhere that I could say with the utmost confidence, “yes it was always love.” Love at first sight, at first kiss, and every moment after.
If you liked that, let me know! I would love to release more bits and pieces for feedback!
If you regularly read my love letters from the gutter you probably already know I am obsessed with my friend Jordyn. Take a look at her pumpkin sculpture and you will see just another reason why.
I also made these delightful little pumpkins while visiting my mom so that was fun. 10/10 would recommend.
3. AFROBEATS DANCE.
Need I say more? If you are not on the amapiano train then you better drop what you’re doing and get on board with the absolute gift of this genre of music. When I am not hosting Friday night dinners, I get to take a class with that explores music and movements either inspired by or coming directly out of Africa and it just brings me oodles of joy. Grab your favorite headphones or a speaker and treat yourself. There are plenty of youtube playlists and mixes to get you started. Some of my favorites include Rush by Ayra Starr and Me & U by Tems.
Stay tender and stay true lovebugs,
Dakota