Strange Contentment

My grandmother’s funeral was the first time anything I’ve written has been read in public. For a guy who wants to be a writer the first public reading is a pretty important event. It’s also very frightening. To have your thoughts and feelings expressed before a such a large group of people, many of whom are complete strangers. Everyone there knew my grandmother, most probably knew her better than I did, it’s been years since I’ve spent much time with my extended family.

These strangers responded to what I’d written though, they were effected by it in almost the same way I was when I wrote it. It was the kind of reaction I always wanted to my writing, a shared experience and understanding. I managed to contribute something to the funeral, and to her memory. I’m quite proud of that.

On a personal level it was a very powerful time. I’ve always felt like an outsider before when visiting Hamilton. I cared about everyone there, but they didn’t always feel like my family the way my immediate family does. They all grew up together, they’ve all lived in the city for most of their lives, and I doubt a day goes by that at least two of them don’t get together to have a drink or shoot pool. I existed on the outside of that though, they were all so close that I guess I felt there wasn’t room for me and my sister. This latest visit changed all that though. They embraced me again as if it hadn’t been ages since I’d been back to Hamilton. They crowded around me to give me hugs, and welcome me back. My uncles and aunts all thanked me for what I wrote, hugged me, asked how my life was going, and commented that it had been far too long since I visited the last time. It felt amazing, like I was suddenly part of the family I’d always watched from the outside. My grandfather spoke to me as well, he told me he loved what I wrote, and that my grandmother would have loved it as well. You can’t imagine how it felt to hear them say such things, and somehow more so from him because he knew my grandmother best.

It was a new stage for me as a writer as well, though I didn’t know it at the time. People who read, or heard what I wrote about my grandmother started looking at me differently. People who have always sort of ignored my interest in writing, and focused on m computer abilities started taking my writing more seriously. Instead of being introduced to people as some kind of cyber protégé people were saying "I’d like you to meet James, he’s going to be a writer someday." Nothing has ever felt as good as having my family acknowledge my dream, and show such a strong belief in my ability to achieve it. This sudden affirmation of my life in so many ways, and from so many sources was like one last gift from my grandmother.

That is also why it's been so long since I've written though. It's all become so real to me now. I understand that I do have the ability to write something that will effect others. I really can pour my own thoughts, and feelings into words and people will understand. My uncle Brad told me I was a celebrity now, because of the way everyone liked my story. For the first time, I really felt like a writer, not just some kid who wants to be one. I loved that feeling, it was like I finally understood myself. I’ve even found myself analyzing everything I read, or see on television to see how I would handle the story differently.

The result though, was that I haven't written anything in quite some time. I'm afraid of losing that feeling. If everyone can suddenly start taking me so seriously after one entry into this journal, then everyone can change their minds based on the next one they read as well. I can go from feeling like a writer, to feeling like a one shot wonder. My dream which was once entirely my own, is now public property, and they have the ability to smash it utterly. I've been so afraid of write something bad that I've been double checking the grammar in e-mail messages.

I woke up today though, with a familiar feeling. An internal dissatisfaction with what I was doing, my emotions were at a raw edge, and my heart was pounding. I knew what it meant though, it’s the same feeling I had during some of the periods when I’ve written things I am most proud of. I woke with the knowledge that I am a writer, quite apart from anything anyone else may have to say on the issue. It’s not the approval of others that makes me a writer, it’s this inner hunger I’ve awoken with that will not be satisfied without being expressed. Terry Brooks told a room full of fans that writers feel the need to write, and when you feel that need nothing else will satisfy you completely.

I’ve come away from this with a host of new experiences, and a new confidence. My writing can touch others, it already has. I may fear that they will not be so effected by everything I write, but it won’t stop my from writing. I am a writer, and nothing less will ever satisfy me. I’m glad you all liked what I wrote, and I’m glad I touched your hearts. What I do comes from within though, it is the expression of my heart, and I can’t give that up just because I’m afraid of how people might respond. I’ll be happy when people like my writing, but happy with myself just for writing to begin with.

My trip to Hamilton was the most fulfilling trip I’ve ever taken. I took a wrong turn for awhile with my dreams, but even that experience have given me a better understanding of what it is I need. I got to say goodbye to my grandmother, and acquire a much stronger feeling of what it meant to be part of a family like mine. I came closer to understanding my relatives, and in some way myself as well. Somehow seeing my family as they were during that time, bound together by mutual grief, made me finally feel like I was part of that family myself. We are all connected, more so it seems than I ever suspected.