Just Say The Word.
Have you heard Ellie Goulding’s new CD Halcyon? I have. I’ve listened to the entire album about thirty times since starting my Invictus project. Even before Invictus, I often times sit up at night, singing aloud while writing. Singing distracts me so that I get out of my head enough to physically put words to paper.
But I haven’t sung much tonight. We have an assignment due Tuesday, eighteen scenes. I already know most of them. I can see them running through my mind, like a movie with subtitles. But my paper is blank. I’m even struggling writing this blog.
Why? Because I don’t let anyone read anything I write. Ever. Anything personal anyway. Essays, my writing blog, creative pieces, they’re all pressed and ready to present to the public. That’s because they have to be. I need them to put on a face, a marketability, for future employers. But the real things I write, the things that keep me up late at night, the things about me, they never see the light of day.
And here I am, airing out my lacy, dirty laundry for everyone to see, for potentially thousands of people to read. It terrifies me.
The thing that terrifies me even more than actually writing the words is the thought of talking to people about the project. The people who I have told have a vague idea: it’s an immersive project, it’s a writing group, it’s that class that Jessica always seems to be on edge about. But no one outside of the Invictus Writers themselves really know. I can count on one hand the number of people who know what my story is about.
These strangers, these fellow writers, they knew on day one. It makes me want to be able to talk about it openly and with pride. It makes me want to say, “Mom, I have something I want to write for Invictus and I need to talk about it.” But for now, the words still play in the back of my mind before I say good-bye and hang up when my mother and I talk on the phone. I wish she knew more than anyone else.
Maybe it’s just not the right time. Maybe I’m just scared shitless. But that is why I’m doing my Invictus project. I’ve never had something that I can point to and say that I pushed myself to my very limits. This is what Invictus means to me. It’s a work in progress, just like I am. But each time I write, I can feel a little more excitement begin to mix in with my fear.
Maybe one day I won’t be afraid at all.
Anything can happen.