Wisdom of the Owl: See Past Fear and Untruth in Your Writing
Your unique voice holds the key
There's wisdom in the owl. She who can see the trees despite the moonless, ebony sky knows something deeper.
She knows that things are not always what they seem. In fact, they rarely are.
When it comes to writing, she recognizes fear when she sees it. It may look like ideas that dance in your mind but never make it to paper. It may look like a blank page or sentences that start and stop. Or it may look like words that only skim the surface of a story, floating safely above what happened or hiding in fancy syntax.
It may look like a lot of thinking about writing and no writing. It may look like days, weeks or months that are too full to write. It may look like an endless string of unfinished drafts and no revisions.
The owl also knows that fear is often cloaked by many untruths.
Untruths that say how or when one is supposed to write – every day, for example. Or first thing in the morning. Or five hundred words at a time, minimum.
Untruths that say which writing types are acceptable – literary pieces, daring poetry, or chilling memoir – and which are not – humor, family stories, or flash fiction.
Untruths about your writing – not enough of something. Not descriptive or lyrical or poignant or compelling enough. Or too much of something else. Too simple, too plain, or too boring.
Untruths about how people might receive your work. That no one will read it or like it or want to share it. That others will hate it or laugh at it or forget it. That you will be blamed or misunderstood or reviled.
Untruths that say you need to share your words, or worse, that you need to make money from your work for it to be valuable. That you cannot write simply because you love it.
The owl knows how to look beyond all the fear and every one of those untruths to see the shapes in the inky night forest. She knows how to hear the calls from home in the silence of midnight.
She knows the home that says your words matter.
That you have something to say, and that alone is important, is worthy.
She knows that no one else has your unique lived experience or your singular way of speaking.
Your voice is yours. And it is that voice that fills your writing with song.
Your only job is to sit down and open yourself up to your intuitive writerly self, letting the words that come to you fall upon the page.