"There is so much unwritten that needs to be written."
-Tillie Olsen, Silences
I've told this story many times, in many different guises, but I'll tell it again here. My parents grew up in places they felt compelled to leave, and while America offered them the chance to start their lives over, as immigrants they lived in an atmosphere of silence and secrecy.
Writing has been my long attempt to understand and undo these conditions.
I tell you this now because I've been thinking about what makes us writers, and what uses we can put our writing in these strange, often fearful and occasionally wondrous times.
If, as Ursula Le Guin writes, “Storytelling is a tool for knowing who we are and what we want,” silencing a story prevents us from knowing ourselves, both individually and collectively.
Now, as writers we don't owe anyone our secrets. I've written a memoir and dozens of personal essays, but I've still got plenty I've held onto. Maybe I'll choose to write those stories; maybe I won't. Most likely they'll sneak in without my quite realizing it until it's too late. That happens . . . a lot.
And yet I do believe that to write is to discover and rediscover the truth, to marvel at it, serve it, and share it. I believe that with each new piece of writing you should ask yourself if there's some truth you're afraid to reveal or a silence you're hesitant to break. Can you be braver? More honest?
It's a lifelong endeavor, and one that can transform not just your writing but your life.
That last lesson is beautifully distilled in the Gospel of Thomas: “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you."
