I Am Not a Writer
April 18, 2017 § 25 Comments
By Sheila Siegel
According to all the books on writing that I have read, I am not a writer. I am a psychologist, an anti-slavery activist, and a reader, but I am not a writer. Yet, I have written a book.
I approached writing as I do everything, with focus and determination, but, when I am writing, get stuck, and feel I have nothing to say, I don’t sit down at my computer and stare at a blank screen as other writers exhort. I get up and read, paint, or take the dogs for a walk.
I don’t blog even though it sounds like a good idea. I don’t journal although I have bought several with all good intentions. I had a five-year one where each day was given three lines. After six months, I had made one entry. I gave it to a friend who wanted to write.
I have taken memoir writing courses. I am in writing groups and workshop my pieces diligently. Sometimes this is not all that helpful. During one critique a fellow student suggested I show less and tell more. Had she not been listening? I have read as much as I could stomach of Bird by Bird, and devoured books on memoir writing by Mary Karr, Stephen King, Abigail Thomas, and Ann Patchett. I no longer use adverbs in dialogue and have learned to incorporate “carnal details” to make my scenes come alive. I have improved my craft. I am a better storyteller than when I started, but I am not a writer. I don’t do writerly things. I don’t force myself to keep going on. I rarely feel blocked because I just stop trying until I am ready to sit down at the computer again.
I don’t write essays, or letters to the editor or look for ways to make money through writing. For me, I need a book under my belt to give me credibility so that I can do what I really want which is to give talks on the problem of global slavery, a field I have been working in for the last 4 years.
Although my friends and family badgered me to write, I resisted.
I told them, “I am too much of an extrovert. The idea of sitting alone day after day holds no appeal.”
I have written articles and a dissertation that have been published. It was enough, until I got sick.
While working in Haiti, doing trainings on trauma informed care, I contracted ciguatera, food poisoning that attacks the nervous system. Chronic fatigue is one of the side effects and once I had recovered enough I began to write. I had energy for nothing else.
As I wrote, I tried to become better. I sought out writing classes where there was a strong critical component and was frustrated and impatient with ones where everyone liked everything. I wrote and rewrote daily. But, when I wasn’t writing I didn’t really miss it until I got a new idea.
This realization that I am not a writer has just struck me. In my current class our teacher often asks us, “What are you reading?”
Some people claim not to be reading anything because they are so busy writing. Because I am retired, I have lots of time to read. In a week, I will have read at least 2 books and listened to a third. I read memoirs by the dozen to see what it takes to write a good one. I think there are more people in my classes like me. Some admit that they need a class to get them writing. So, are they not really writers?
Writing is hard work. Sometimes it is fun and sometimes disheartening. When I started Speak Memory by Vladimir Nabokov I thought to myself why am I even trying? I could never possibly come close to writing so poetically. My words compared to his are pedestrian and banal. I soon got over that because the writing was so lyrical that I got bored and had trouble finishing the book.
On the other hand, it is nice to tell people that you are writing something. Of course, you always skip over the not writing part, the creating the book proposal, building a platform, finding an agent most of the ones available being in their 20’s and not interested in a book about retiring.
So (after spending the last 18 months creating my oeuvre) it has become clear to me, that really, I am not a writer. Still, once I get recharged enough, I will sit down and try again. Right now, I think I will go for a walk.
Sheila Siegel is a clinical psychologist. When not traveling the world as a volunteer for Free the Slaves, she is working at a drop-in center for homeless youth located near her home in Venice, California where she lives with her husband and their two dogs. The rest of the time she spends looking for an agent for her memoir, The Badass Grandma’s Guide to Tackling Retirement and Global Slavery. She uses her down time to write.