All of Me

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We’ve all heard it before:  write what you know, write from your heart.  I did that today.  It was like giving blood and having the nurse walk away and forget about me.  I gave all of me, everything I had.

No one ever talks about the repercussions of writing from the heart.  If what you’re writing about shatters your heart, then what good are you the next day?  I feel utterly spent, depleted, empty.  Yes, it felt good to write the essay.  It needed to be written; it burst forth from me like an overdue baby.  It had to be said.  And yet, there’s nothing left of me to give to my family, my kids, hell, I even told the cat to leave me alone.

As I finished the essay, mopped up the puddle of tears that had accumulated at the edge of my keyboard, I wondered what to do next.  I thought about posting it on this blog but then I thought no, this subject matter is so important to me, I must get it beyond WeeBanshee.  So, I submitted it to a Toronto newspaper.

I’ve been told that I should start doing this on a more (cough) regular basis but I haven’t had the guts.  Today, I poured every ounce of blood, heart and soul into this piece.  I had no energy left to be cowardly (good thing).  And, often when I sob my way through a story or an essay, I’m often surprised by the good results so I figured I had nothing to lose.

Except everything.

It just dawned on me that, although publication would be nice, the subject matter is so much a part of me if the essay is rejected, it might have catastrophic confidence-busting results.  If I can write from the heart and have my heart stomped on, then perhaps that is investing too much of myself in the material.  Do I hold back?  Do I temper my passion? Instead of writing from the gut should I just try to slide by and write from my cold, dispassionate cerebral cortex to avoid being laid low by rejection?

Or, do I learn to manage the rejection – because thinking that it won’t come either way is just delusional.  Or do I just let ‘er rip, go for it and let the chips fall where they may?

Frankly, I’m too exhausted to care.  The fact is, I let ‘er rip in this piece.  I spared nothing and no one, not even myself.  We’ll see what happens.

Hot shower. Tea. Bed.

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