Pages

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Emily Dickinson Is My Homegirl

No one really knows the reasons why 19th century American poet Emily Dickinson became a recluse, but we do know she went out less and less over the years, until she would only go out if it was absolutely necessary. She secluded herself at home to the point that she would only talk to people through the door instead of face-to-face, and spent much of her time in her room. However, she seemed to love others deeply and was very connected with friendships and family, communicating through countless letters.(1)

She was also extremely prolific, writing 40 collections of almost 800 poems, most of which no one had ever seen until after her death when they were published by her family.  No one really knows if she wanted to have her poetry published or not.(2)  While she was alive, she only had 10 poems and one letter published anonymously, and those were probably the result of others submitting them without her knowledge or approval.

Now, hear me, Gentle Readers, when I say this: I am in no way placing myself or my work anywhere within the same league, let alone the same ballpark, as this talented and creative genius. There's no comparison. But I do feel a kindred spirit with her, perhaps.

Lately, I find myself wanting to retreat, stay home, and distance myself from people. I love my tribe. I care deeply about people. But loving people is also messy and exhausting. It takes work. It takes time. And it's scary. You have to be vulnerable. You have to be honest. You risk getting hurt. I'm not a terribly good liar, but I'm very good at hiding.  Being both introverted and shy by disposition, combined with years of childhood teasing and bullying, all taught me that it was easier, and less painful, to be very quiet and keep to yourself. Avoid social situations and don't ever let anyone see how you really feel or think. It works, up to a point, but it's also very lonely. Especially if you also have a natural disposition to be very compassionate.  Text messages, emails, Facebook messages, and (I'm smiling as I type this) blog posts, only go so far in connecting you to others. It's all very artificial.

So, I have the reclusive tendencies. I also have a track record of writing and creating things that I never show anyone.  There are so few people who have read my fiction writing or poems, that I can count them on one hand. I have portfolios full of artwork that I have shown to hardly anyone. I suspect this also stems from a fear of rejection or of being misunderstood. I haven't really figured out the motivation behind it yet.

I recently joined a very small writing group. There's only three of us, including me, and one of the others is a good friend. Yet the whole process of showing them my work has been terrifying - and this has been in what I consider a very safe place.  Ugh!  We've also been discussing publication goals - which means not only showing my work to complete strangers but also those who are authorities within the industry which is all kinds of unsafe - and it has me quite torn.  Part of me wants to be like my homegirl, Emily Dickinson, and tuck away in my room, enjoy the process of writing a bunch of stuff, and letting someone else deal with it when I'm gone. Why face potential (and highly probable) rejection?

However, don't we write for some type of connection? To elicit some kind of emotion?  Can that be done in a vacuum?  Isn't that what writing or creating art is all about?  Furthermore, isn't connection and love what human relationships are all about?

So I keep pushing my comfort zones and trying to best navigate whatever time I have left here. Does that mean my short story will end up on your Kindle reader? Or will only a few key friends ever see it? I don't know. Does that mean I'll end up wearing nothing but white dresses and hanging out in my attic?(3) I hope not. I'll leave that legacy to Ms. Dickinson.

Black is more my color anyway.






1 comment:

Chad Olson said...

“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”

My favorite poem of hers. Don't hide, though. Embrace rejection. It might be one of the great secrets of life.