A Year To Save A Dream: I Don’t Want To Talk About It

“1. Be Impeccable With Your Word
Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.”

– The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz

 

Today was a day away from the comfortable little bubble of home. Away from my beautiful girls and back into the real world. “Keeping in touch days” are a way of keeping parents on maternity leave connected with the working environment in the UK – and today was my day to go in and be back part of my team for the first time since the arrival of the twins.

It was good to be back around these people again. They’re warm, funny and people I trust – I have missed them. Everything was as it always was – the scenery, the gossip and the little bouts of giggles. Time had passed but perceptible change hadn’t come to the office. Comfortable and reliable. My heart thudded to a stop against my ribcage though, when one of my colleagues said she had read my blog.

One of the biggest issues I have around my writing is actually sharing it with people. I worry about the quality lacking in some way and the idea of people reading it and seeing my shortcomings writ large brings sheer terror. Of course, I’m always glad to see the numbers tick up on the visitors counter and am happy to know people are reading. I’m always grateful to my dear friends who cheer me from the sidelines, but always in the recesses of my brain I think it kindness rather than merit.

Worse than the sharing is the onward step of actually talking about it. It drives me into self-protecting jesting. I chirpily mention to my workmate that maybe I’d be able to write a bestselling novel and never come back to work. I’m not really sure why I decided to joke about this. Really, that’s the dream.

But I don’t want to talk about it.

Everyone knows that wishes spoken aloud never come true. Add to that the unspoken fact that anyone who talks about writing a novel probably wont write one. I mean, who do they think they are? Who do I think I am?

I pause after making my joke as my colleague asks me if I was writing the novel. Now I know that I am working on something I hope to shape into a novel. I hold my breath. My first instinct is to just smile and deflect the question in some way. Who do I think I am? I’m no JK Rowling and it’s not like I’m Stephen King. But neither were they, until they were. All writers start somewhere and how the hell can I expect to be read if I can’t even talk about it. How can I share stories and worlds with people if I can’t find the words to describe it?

“Well they say it’s best to write about what you know,” I start. Against my instinct I actually start to say actual out loud words about the story I’m working on. Not my most articulate account of it – but I am saying it to another person – without agonising over it first. My colleague is kind enough to listen to my non specific ramblings without any visible signs of judgement. Like I say, these are people I can trust.

This isn’t a big tale of a victory over imposter syndrome, but for me it is significant progress. Saying it out loud makes me accountable. I’m a believer in being impeccable with my word – saying what I mean. In talking about it I feel I have to deliver. By not saying anything I will never have to produce anything and I can pretend my ambition doesn’t exist. That way, if I fail no one will know. By speaking this aloud I am compelling myself to act, to not live in dreams but to live out dreams,

I don’t want to talk about it – but I’m daring myself to try.

Author: lilithinfurs

Milk maker, shape thrower and drinker of Yorkshire Tea

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