You are the main character of your life
Stories matter. Everyone has a story to tell. It all begins with your own unique life story. Then you let it engage with the stories of people you meet on your journey. We simply call this: living.
I read somewhere that as you cannot un-sneeze (not an official word, I know!) a sneeze so you also can't undo life events from your past. And that may very well be a good thing. This does not apply to writing though. You can change, edit, rewrite as much as you want, until you hit the deadline. Than you have to let it go. At least you try.. Last week I ended my blog saying I found five pillars that determined my journey. Someone commented to this remark:
“ Pillars.. uhm.. sounds a bit policy language to me!”
It made me laugh. She was right. After a good night sleep and a brisk, windy morning walk I decided to keep the term ´pillars´ anyways. A pillar is heavy on its own and is able to cary a lot of weight. But it takes more than one pillar to support a building. The same goes for developing your writing style. This metaphore appealed to me and made me refresh my memory to understand how I got to defining the first pillar.
Earlier I wrote about the first cracks that appeared and slowly becoming conscious about the fact that I lost my writing style. And that it was something else I wanted to leave behind in my writings as my personal legacy. This gave me freedom to commence my journey. To get some inspiration I decided to enrol in an online free trial workshop on creative writing. The first assignment was to write in no more than 250 words an early childhood memory. We got one simple advice:
“When you write, then silence your inner critic”
Easier said than done! If there would be a contest who had an above-average ability to self-reflect, then I would win the first price. In everything I said and wrote I raised the bar high for myself. Sometimes hours after I had a conversation my mind would wander of thinking I should have phrased it differently. Or write an email and the moment I had clicked on the ´send´ button, I immediately regretted it. The inner voice was shouting to me:
“Will the recipient understand your message?
Did you really write it flawlessly?!”
It was tiring, very tiring. How could I ever get rid of this loud, inner critical voice? There was only one way to stop listening: it was time for exposure. To peel off the layers of writing style that stuck to me through all these years. This was going to be the first layer. My heart rate went up when I had to share my story: A memory about my dad fixing my first bike. Soon the teacher let me know:
“You have described it very compact and visually. I saw you cycling away!”
Immediately the inner critical voice reacted to this:
“She probably phrased it like an acquisition talk to persuade you to enroll in the paid course”.
After this trial lesson (on which I did not enroll in.!) I continued handwriting in a notebook. Using my observational skills I found inspiration in daily events. Watching a struggling patient at group physiotherapy. A woman walking on red high heals while shouting at her husband. A local writer I met accidentally as she was sitting on a rock near my house. My scribbles were not short story worthy but written in an observational style. However, as time passed something did happen. As I was reading back my notebook I realised that the writings became more personal. Between the lines I recognized my vulnerable side. Without being aware of it, the scribbles became short stories. Subconsciously I started to add appearance, thoughts and feelings to the main characters. I was shocked like it wasn't written by me. It was not my kind of writing style.
I did not know what to do with it
Then Mia Kankimäki came into my life. Well.. not in person but her 415 page book The Women I Think About at Night. (I know am biased but everyone should read this book!) After I read the last page I closed the book and hugged it. As I lay staring at the living room ceiling, an undescribable feeling bubbled up. Why did this book get to me so much, I wondered. It was all about women Mia had come across during a research. Later she would call them´her night women´. As a reader you were given an insight of her personal journey on writing her book. Chapter by chapter she intertwined her process with the life stories of women that actually literally went on a journey. They were not deterred by the prevailing morality and dominant male culture that was ongoing in the spirit of the time they lived in. Some took actually half a household with dozens of porters and servants on their journey. Others just traveled with a backpack. Illness, hardships, discoveries, encounters and finally the sometimes lonely death.
What did these women have in common?
They had all passed a live event which they could not un-sneeze anymore. The death of a husband, a new marriage, caring for parents or a relative. They utilized that life changing moment that from now on they would do things differently. Subsequently they were determined not to depend their decisions on what others would think or say. Not just for that life changing decision to embark on a journey. That decisiveness remained in each of them for the rest of their lives. After being confined to my home for such a long period I found myself feeling related to these women. At the same time Mia´s writing style had awoken something in me. I understood as she wrote about her urge and need to struggle alone in her writing process. I was touched as she described her raw vulnerability, struggles and self-mockery. Her way of writing was the answer I was looking for at that moment. My journey was going into the right direction. Without thinking it through I picked up my phone to find Mia on Instagram. Spontaneously I typed:
“Dear Mia, I just finished reading your book ‘The women I think about at night.’ Still dazzled, I put on my red Adidas sneakers to take my dog for a walk. I need to sort out the night women in my life. Thanks for that! I also need to sort out my feelings and thoughts on writing. What is the next step? I have no idea. For now I just follow my dog.. Warm greetings”
I walked on with a sense of relief not thinking I would get an answer. When I got home I saw Mia had replied:
“Dear Anni, thanks for your message - it sounds like you are INSPIRED and I'm so glad of it!!! Can't wait to hear where this all leads… Greetings from Helsinki Mia”
Pillar one: You listen to the stories that were read to you
It was april 2022. On reading Mia´s book I realised that it was time to recollect my memory on the books that were read to me when I was a child. This would be the first pillar on my journey to find back my writing style.
I am four years old and standing in our back garden, watching as my dad sits on a stool fixing my ride bike. It is my very first bike. With two hands he lowers the saddle and screws it tight. Next he places the extra side wheels on the rear wheel. Lastly he checks with his index finger and thumb the tires. Then he looks up and with a smile on his face he nods at me. I watch him as he gets up, lifts the bike in the air with his right hand and starts to walk. Without exchanging a word I follow him as he walks fast through the back alley. I have to run to keep up. The uneven pebbles on the path press through my thin sandal soles. It hurts but I keep running anyway. We reach the street where my dad puts the bike down. This is the moment I am waiting for! With great anticipation I sit on the saddle and hold on to the steering wheel. The bike wiggles and it feels I am about to fall. I hear myself shout “Apa!” At that moment I feel the warm hands of my dad hold on to my shoulders. `Menj!` I hear him say, while he pushes my back. And off I go.
Today would have been my father's birthday. In loving memory ✝️