November 1, 2004

It Comes From Within

On Saturday, I went to one of my "jobs." I teach creative writing to middle school aged and high school aged students at the Thurber House Writing Academy (www.thurberhouse.org). From 1-3 pm for five Saturdays, I work with these talented young writers. The class I'm teaching is called Breaking Into Print and we work on how to get original works from poetry to plays to short fiction published.

One of the things I remind my students is that in writing, rejection is a part of the life. It's a bigger part than any writer really wants to admit to, but to be a writer, you have to face facts -- more of your work gets rejected than accepted. To really be a writer, you have to love the writing itself. For me, the true satisfaction is in the process of writing rather than the results (although, seeing your name in print can be satisfying too, very satisfying!).

I've been thinking about my students, who are unafraid to try and try again at this writing thing and it makes me a little ashamed to admit my own fear. You see, I've been accepted to the Master of Fine Arts program in Creative Writing at West Virginia University. They've given me a great financial package, which includes teaching. I'll have the time to write, with mentors and a community of other writers. It's such a blessing. It's something I really want to do, dreamt about. So why do I feel like I now have to confess my fear over it?

Fear might be the most natural human emotion. We fear what is unknown. Sometimes we fear what is known. As an RA patient, I'm always fearful of what will happen to my health. What if they find some horrible side effects to Enbrel, the therapy I'm using to control my RA? What if I have a flare up that causes such awful joint damage that it will be difficult to function normally? What if my health care costs go through the roof and I can't afford treatment?

My fears about RA fuel feelings in inadequacy. I think we all have esteem issues from time to time and mine are always linked backed to having RA. I shouldn't feel that I'm not pretty or smart simply because of the disease, but the truth is sometimes those feelings snowball with feelings of fatigue, frustration over not look or feeling "normal" because of RA or just the pain of swelling.

Writing has been my refuge from RA. But now, looking at this MFA and looking to try to advance my small skill, I’m so afraid! What if my refuge becomes a tormentor? But then, if I don't do it, I've already failed at it.

What am I truly afraid of? It's a complex thing. I already write, send out my work and gather lots of "no thanks" letters… many more rejections than acceptances. And I'm okay with that. I already participate in a critique group, so submitting my work for workshop review shouldn't be too scary, and I'm eager to get suggestions and comments. I already teach, so teaching at the university should be the next step in development. When I type this out it all seems so natural, so thought out and reasonable. But the feeling inside is shaky – I have to move, my husband has to find a new job. We have to sell our house, and find a new place to live in a strange town. Should we buy or rent? What if I get there and can’t hack it? What if the stress gets to be so much that my RA goes nuts? What if I get through the three years of the program and still get piles of rejections but my writing doesn’t improve? (Okay, this is among the least rational, but in those moments of quiet desperation, it creeps in). What if the actual experince doesn't live up to my expectations?

Sometimes I shock myself by continuing to move forward, despite all the fears mounting up. I just have to have faith, because I know I want this. Faith is stronger than the fear. Maybe that's how I get through my RA, too. Maybe that's why I can work with my young students and reassure them it is worth writing even if there is lots of rejection. Hope doesn't get nearly the good publicity it should. At the heart of it all, I think I hope for things and my hope pushes me to action. That hope - hope for writing success, hope for a cure for RA, hope for happiness for my loved ones, hope for my young students' success - comes from a place inside me that I can hardly understand, but often rely on. Hope is stronger than statistics or odds.

This morning, I wrapped myself in my cuddly but old bathrobe after getting out of a warm shower. My face still showed the drowsiness of sleep, small purple circles under my eyes. I sipped coffee from a large red cup as I brushed my teeth and ran a comb through my wet, long hair. I went through the motions of getting ready for the day, kissed my husband as he left for work. All of this is the normal and mundane - safe and secure. Routine can make fear seem less potent. But I could wake up like this any day and not change. This change, my fear, make routine seem pretty attractive. But I have a race to begin, not one of speed or distance, but a race against my fear and doubt. Right now I'm just preparing...

One of my favorite movies is Chariots of Fire, and in it one of the main characters, Eric Liddell, an Olympic runner from Scotland has a great line:

"Where does the power come from to see the race to its end? It comes from within."

Posted by renee | Filed under:

Comments

Posted by: Jo Garber at February 23, 2005 9:20 AM

Post a comment

Trackback Pings

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.healthdiaries.com/scgi-bin/mt33/mt-tb.cgi/196