WEEK 1: Vulnerability in Writing and Connecting with Readers

MEMOIR MAGAZINE SURVIVOR WRITERS WORKSHOP: WEEK 1: Vulnerability in Writing and Connecting with Readers. 

Readings:

 

Discussion: Vulnerability = Connection

 “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

—Maya Angelou

In her Power of Vulnerability Ted Talk, Brene Brown defines Courage as: “to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart.” To “Let our selves be seen. Deeply seen. Vulnerably seen.”

What does she mean by this? That to have the courage (to really tell our story) we have to be open to writing about our shame, fear, and struggles for worthiness, etc.

This is a powerful, and inspiring concept, but why does she say this? Why must the writer specifically embrace vulnerability? The short answer: true vulnerability in writing connects with humanity in a powerful way.  As readers of memoir, the more a writer is able to show us their vulnerability the more engaged we become.

But being vulnerable is scary. Sometimes we writers avoid being vulnerable in our writing because we fear what people will judge us or readers do not want to read this stuff. This kind of thinking is often the result of our *Inner Critic, a “critical inner voice” inside our heads, a (self-sabotaging) negative internal commentary on who we are and how we (should) behave.

But we shouldn’t worry about this. We have ways to deal with the Inner Critic and the fact is readers crave vulnerability. In Memoir, vulnerable writing startles the reader and creates an immediate sense of urgency. Not to mention, no one wants to read about a “perfect” person who led a perfect life. We are happy for them; we just don’t want to read a memoir about it. Why? Because, unless the writing voice is absolutely hysterical, the perfect life is boring and can ring unauthentic. The best (most engaging) memoirs are about the way actual humans overcome obstacles. And actual humans are vulnerable.

Sometimes these past experiences of vulnerability seem too hard to face, let alone be even more vulnerable by telling a friend about them or writing about them or, even, (gulp!) publish them for strangers to read. Why even write these moments?  Because writing is our imperative, it sustains us and keeps us going in a number of ways. Maybe it’s about letting our voices be heard or sharing a story that others could connect with. Maybe the practice of being vulnerable when facing the events of our hardest moments is important because we have to get them out of us and onto the page to set them free. Either way, when you set out to write about the difficult past or present, remember its not just okay to be vulnerable, its vital to your development goals and to connect with readers.

But perhaps most importantly, overcoming your fears and being vulnerable will help you tell your story more authentically, by cutting through all of the self-protective personas (facades) you’ve worn in the past to cover up what pains and shames and frightens you.

As we set out to write about these difficult moments, keep three things in mind:

  • You might be surprised by what comes up for you. There could be a small seemingly irrelevant detail that when you go to write it down it might become a focal point and that might disturb you. Take care of yourself, and keep going. (And when you’re a reader, do the same. You might be triggered, but breathe and focus on the craft, on how the story is being told.)
  • You have to write past your inner critic that tells you that you can’t write these things down. You have to write through the ways you usually deflect writing about the core of your experience.
  • Your story-your feelings. Memoir is not so much about listing what happened and more about how it made you feel. This is the core of your experience. Others may deny events because of their own issues or limitations, but no one can deny your By embracing vulnerability (on or off the page) you can tell your story in a way that frees you and engages readers to the highest degree.

Writing out these hard moments is an act of going against instinct. But you find freedom when you run towards the fire. You have to write out the actual story because it’s a great story in its own way and every great story wants to be told. Must be told—no matter how hard it is.

One of the great outcomes of the MeToo movement has been so many survivors realizing they are not alone and that the fall out from Sexual Assault has many common manifestations, like alienation, self-harm, resentment, trauma, PTSD, addiction, promiscuity at a young age, sexual confusion, distortion, mental illness, anger, rage, fearfulness, low self-esteem, physical disability, (the list is endless) and we are finding out more each day.  This means that no matter what you have experienced, there is no greater time to share it and feel free to explore it in your writing. Basically, you shouldn’t think that anything you are dealing with is out of bounds for exploration in your writing for yourself or for readers. Chances are readers are already aware of many of these and, if not, they will be grateful for your brave decision to share.

Over the next six weeks we will be reading and writing a lot of eye-opening material. Next week we will discuss more Craft techniques for writing the hard stuff. This week I want to make sure you have enough Emotional Resources for this journey.

So what to do if you have trouble dealing with the onslaught of emotions that may arise as you write?

First, reach out to me. I am here for you in this process. You can email me, text me or speak with me whenever you need to.

Secondly, I encourage you to team up with a licensed professional and to cull a list of resources, hotlines, ways to get support and counseling to fully serve you at this time.

Finally, I’ve listed a few emotional resources that can help from time to time. Please use what resonates with you and discard what does not. (See the Emotional Resources Document section of this course).

Discussion Questions (Please post your answer to at least one of the following questions by Friday).

  1. Why do you feel like you must write about the hard stuff?
  2. What are your thoughts on vulnerability? What makes you vulnerable? Do you find it hard to write about your struggles? If so, what stops you? What do you most fear will happen when you tell your story?
  1. What are the moments in Diaz’s essay where you got a sense that she had to write against her instincts to not write that? What about her writing in that one moment makes you feel this way?
  2. What are some of moments in these readings that stirred up a strong emotion in you? What was that emotion? How did it feel? What about the writing do you think made such an impact on you?

Writing Exercises: (Please write these exercises by Friday)

  1. Make a list of at least three things you would NEVER write about, and then for each item listed write for five minutes about why you can’t write about that story. It can be a specific events, feeling, results of an event, or even people. Don’t over think it, you probably know in your heart already what stories you want to tell. Go ahead, BLEED onto the page!
  2. Pick one of the stories you wrote down. Now spill your guts out for ten minutes and write about that moment. But as you write, don’t end one sentence and start another. Make your ten minutes of writing one continuous sentence.
  3. Write about a time when you had a strong reaction to something that someone said or did that completely surprised you. Focus on what the reaction actually felt like in your body and why you think you had that reaction.

7 replies on “WEEK 1: Vulnerability in Writing and Connecting with Readers”

I need to write about hard stuff because if I don’t, the trauma remains inside my body. It shows up in my health in the form of hives, self-hate, nightmares, sexual confusion, body pain, anxious rage, blood sugar numbers and so on. It effects how I show up in my relationships.
The hangover of vulnerability is hardest. I want to delete old records and writing. The regret of deleting that is painful. What stops me is the fear of rejection, especially when the material is triggering. If I tell my story, could it cause a loss of honor (izzat) for the men in my family? Father, brother (those living in India).
I feel that she had to write against her instincts when Diaz questions the existence of God because his brother does not recognize her. There is a funeral service without her and she has no rituals, but grieves alone. She asked and asked questions in the peak traffic hour “did it hurt were you scared did you tell her did she know did you still love me”, but there are no answers. She is stuck with these questions and the world moves on. The loneliness is palpable. She wants to shake and shake his brother, but does nothing.
I crave the rituals to work through grief and trauma and fight the loneliness in the same way. When I am wronged, I question and question. Want to shake others and on the surface, there is not so much as a tremor. “You are cultured” they say. “Graceful. So confident” they say. I have questioned the existence of God; and I wandered and wandered and wandered in the wilderness. Stumbled and fell on my face. To get back up was shameful. The impact from the writing is: to not be acknowledged, to feel unseen/ unheard. To have nowhere to go. To have absolutely no one to acknowledge your reality. But its real. Its real. I lived it. Its real!

Magnolia. It’s ironic that most people do not know that Writing is the cure, not the outcome. It truly is the journey, and not the destination. Have you read: “The Body keep Score” by Bessel Van der Kolk? It’s all about the common illnesses that Sexual Assault Survivors face until they have healed.
or “When The Body Says No”. It discusses similar findings for people who have not managed to express their feelings of abuse and the pressing need to reframe the past. Both fascinating and enlightening reads.

Writing, being read and being rejected. Im not sure what you mean about regretting deleting. Are you deleting your writing or just past memories? Why would you need to delete your writing if you will regret it? One thing is the writing. Another thing is having it read and rejection. we write first of all because we must, not because we want it read. This way the most important thing happens—the story is out of us on the page and we find measures of healing. Secondly, we rewrite or edit that first “vomit” draft for clarity and we read it aloud to ourselves for readability. This is 80% of the writing for readers. A vital courtesy to the reader, but also to ourselves because we find far fewer rejections on a piece of writing that has been given multiple drafts than we do on that first “vomit” draft.  The writers reality is that We get 10 rejections on average for each acceptance of our best work. The truck is to accept rejection as part of acceptance and improvement. A baby must fall down hundreds of times before he can walk and still keeps trying.

Is that honor real or just an unearned lie? How can someone lose something they do not actually have or have never earned?  I mean are we talking about the men who are innocent being effected? And if so, do they deserve to know what the others are doing so they can help remedy it for their own daughters and sons? Did you know according to RAIN, the average pedophile has over 400 victims in their lifetime? That they do not have a sexual preference when their preferred victims are under 12 years old? This means boys are in danger as well. When you are ready to publish something, you can always use a pseudonym, which is what you are doing for now. But don’t get ahead of yourself. You can make these choices after you have gone telling road towards publishing a publishable draft. For now, just write. That is your right. To write your story as true as you can. Write that first draft. It is the one time you get to write it for yourself.

Diaz is writing in a stream of consciousness, the rush of thoughts and feeling she dares to share brings us right into her story and we can feel her pain. It makes her experience real. We are human, we all question God. The only difference is she writes about it. And she has made art of her pain and regret without ever mentioning a name.

We find the rituals as we learn to trust what your soul has to say and faithfully put pen to paper. Rituals were made by men. Who says we can’t we just make our own?

What if? We don’t know what the future will be, so we fear the potential bad. But what if its good? it is all unknown and the fact is some people do not like the truth or the messenger or our writing on any subject at all!  What if it happened to you because you are the only one who can face it and unmask it? I see you. It’s real. Write it.

I read “The Body Keeps Score” and a lot of my healing rituals are derived from this book. “When the Body Says No” is on my list. Thanks for the recommendation.

I delete material when I have confessed or vomited out my confusion about certain encounters with men. I’ve torn, burnt and deleted diary pages and vomit love-letters addresing others, but written for my own clarity and perspective. It is easy when the man is upfront and clear. Then my  No’s are clear and my writing has yearning and its human and not too uncomfortable. But sometimes, their stance is confusing, between the lines – intrusive with justification for stalking mixed with denial. Then too, I try and write about the pseudo-sexual encounter. But its shameful so I delete it. I’m married. I don’t want to hurt my husband’s feelings. He understands, but the guilt and shame are there, lurking with the confusion. Re: writing for others, Thank you. Your advise on multiple drafts is amazing! 1 acceptance for 10 rejections is comforting to know, as long as we allow it to improve us.

That honor is an unearned lie. If they confront me about my writing, I will remind them that. And as a self-protection, maybe won’t even bring it up with them. If they find it, let them. The men deserve to know the truth about what women in their “respectable” family and culture go through. If that makes me cheap/fast, let it. Its my reality anyway. I’m just pouring it out to them through a craft that has taken hard-work & effort. How beautifully said, “That is your right. To write your story as true as you can. Write that first draft. It is the one time you get to write it for yourself.” In revising and shortening my draft, I have already gained emotional clarity, but also improved as a writer being mindful of the audience. Thank you!

“But what if its good? it is all unknown and the fact is some people do not like the truth or the messenger or our writing on any subject at all!” *applause* You spoke to my heart here. I’m grateful for these discussions.

I saw myself on Diaz’s morning drive as she passed remnants of her lover’s accident. On a similar morning drive, just a few weeks ago, I passed the psychic debris of my marriage in a hotel where my ailing husband had met a young sex worker. The shock of the hotel’s name in lights triggered an avalanche of memories and humiliating flashbacks of my man with his pants down in hotels across the city. Because Diaz’s thoughts and images raced along a long and disjointed sentence toward a fatal crash, my mind raced with her from the hotel sign to my husband at the wheel. I couldn’t make sense of his carelessness. Diaz’s lover was careless about her feelings too. Below, I make Diaz’s story mine.

 
… if there is a God, how could there be a God when driving me to the airport to get away from you, you stay silent when the JW Marriott marquee lights up a room and your pants are down in front of a hooker named Summer, sometime in the spring you say, when she mistook the cost of the room as a sign that you’d pay a monthly retainer and I see my hand on the back of your head pull at your hair for recognition and try to take your memories so I don’t have flashbacks, how could there be a God when the only person still living is me and I’m saying that you wish you could take it all back.

The emotion that Diaz’s writing stirred up for me is alienation from my self,  my past, my husband, and my self again. It’s the navigational loss that makes me four limbs and a mouth that still needs to eat but doesn’t know what tastes good anymore. It’s an alienating grief rather than a grounding one. It’s like you wrote to Magnolia: I fear the potential bad. A boogeyman is gonna get me. 

“It’s the navigational loss that makes me four limbs and a mouth that still needs to eat but doesn’t know what tastes good anymore.” Wow. The imagery of this phrase is powerful. Yes, it is very much alienating. The aloneness with the knowledge of  or experience of her secret is palpable. The secret grief. How would you describe a grounding grief?

Mary McBeth