At the close of June as fireflies begin to appear at dusk I’m feeling nostalgic for autumn. The summer solstice has passed and already I’m wishing for the first whiff of crisp air and the crunch of dry leaves under my feet. But I’m trying to slow down and enjoy each and every moment. After all, the fireflies are a magical part of the beginning of summer, and I enjoy their starry performance as much as I enjoy a candle in a pumpkin.
So often after I finish a story I dream of publishing it with a prestigious magazine or getting into an anthology, and on occasion I’ve been lucky enough to catch these fleeting moments and add them to my life experience. But what I’m starting to appreciate more than ever is the journey. It’s difficult to enjoy the journey sometimes. It’s fraught with struggle and failure and late nights and rejection. But there are jewels along the road, even though they are few.
I recently finished a short story and sent it off to my teacher and editor, and as always, waited impatiently for his response. Would he like it? How much more work would I need to put into it before it was ready to see the light of day? Was it a complete flop? These questions nag at me every time I write the words the end.
And I was doubly nervous this time around. I’d gotten the idea for this story over the winter, and although I scribbled a quick sentence or two into my journal, I couldn’t write the first draft. It embarrassed me. Something about the subject matter was very painful. So I left it alone. For weeks. But almost every day I mulled it over. You should really write that story. Just a rough draft. See what happens. And every day a little part of me answered, I’m not ready. What is it about some ideas that feel so electric, a live wire you dare not touch?
A month went by, then two, three… Finally, a couple of weeks ago I decided to dive in. I bashed out a first draft and left it alone. I picked at it a few more times, then finally sent it off to my teacher.
I was stunned when I read the first sentence of his critique. He said, “This is a sharp story and stands a chance at publication.” What? That thing that taunted and embarrassed me for months actually has something? I read more of his comments, most of them complimentary. A few suggested tweaks to align the theme and make the ending more punchy. Overall, “Send it out.” What?
I’ve had very few experiences like this. Wait. Actually, this is the only one. And I knew it. When I finished the story I just knew it had something. At the same time I didn’t know. I felt there might be something there, but the doubting voice inside told me, no. It can’t be true. And so I mistrusted myself. I’ve read articles about this phenomenon before, about going towards feelings of embarrassment or fear because it will help develop creativity. But I never followed the advice. Instead, I ran away.
There are quite a few books out about exploring your shadow, and I’m intrigued by the idea. I’m more willing to explore it now, but, yikes. Sometimes I’m not ready for what I find there. It’s powerful stuff. It’s powerful because it’s closer to my personal truth, my voice, my interpretation of life, and if expressing those ideas freely feels like too much exposure, I guess that’s a good reason to shy away from some subjects and opinions. (Actually, once they are out there they feel less scary.) And as I slow down and experience each of these steps along the writing path, I find more enjoyment and fulfillment in the process—not the outcome. Even if my teacher didn’t like the story, I would have found the practice of expression valuable.
I’ll be sending out the story after editing, and this will begin another long, sometimes torturous waiting period, fraught with self-doubt (we’ll see if the magazines agree with my teacher). But while I wait I’ll be delving into the next idea to see if it might contain the same kind of magic. If not, I’m sure I’ll find something to learn. And the fireflies will still light my way.
How about you? Have you ever found gold in your shadow self?
Until next time, don’t be afraid of the dark!
Jan
